Moments
by Blablover5
Summary: Moments are vignettes about the buildup of a relationship between Cullen and the Inquisitor Lavellan. Just little extra cutscenes between the ones we already know and love. I combined all my moments into one story in chronological order.
1. Moment of Study

Five candles sputtered in between the massive wall of papers I was not supposed to stack up like little siege towers. I stared at one candle, the top pitching to the left like it flared in hurricane winds. If it just leaned a bit more an ember could dance free and spark up this ancient and mind rotting parchment, freeing me forever from this curse.

The door to my prison blew open, and instinctively I reached over to catch the candle - my honed dexterity dooming me for eternity. After blowing it out, I looked up to find a human filling the doorway. It was one of them, the important ones, but the foreign name rolled around in my brain, struggling to find purchase. Creators, I was going to have get better at this.

He twisted back, glancing down the quiet halls of the chantry, then to me. "Herald? I didn't expect anyone in the...what are you doing in here?"

I shoved aside the books with my hands, providing a clean path so I could stare up at him. "Paying my penance." His eyes narrowed at my whining and the name snapped into place. Cullen. Right. So far he was the only one who didn't try to lock me in place, though the chains were preferable to the ambassador's current machinations.

Cullen worked his jaw, as if terrified to walk into the room I was sentenced to die in. Instead, he maintained a vigil in the doorway. "Your penance?"

Working a crick out of my neck, I said, "Seems it's rather bad form for the Herald of Andraste to not know a damn thing about her flameproofness, so I was banished to this dungeon with a stack of these," I slammed the books back into the table, rattling another half staff candle, "until I could come out reciting the Chant of Right."

"Light, it's the Chant of Light."

"Oh for..." my hands rolled over my face, burrowing it deep into my feeble notes. "I tried, I really have, but all I get through the thees, and thous, and begettings is Andraste got set on fire, there's a Mafarath - who I think was her dog - that let her down, she had a sword named Hessarian."

"That, um..." Cullen finally stepped into the room, his fingers breaking from his sword to rifle through the books coating the massive table running the length of the room.

"What?" I pleaded, sitting up off the bed. After an hour sitting primly in that chair, I needed to move and took to rolling across the third bed in the room. More books in a language I couldn't read swarmed around me, a few accidentally shoved to the floor. I only kept them around because they came with pictures - nearly all of them of a pretty lady bathed in flames. For being their god, they sure liked showing her in pain.

Cullen shook his head, "Your understanding is...I'm afraid it's not right. Mafarath was Andraste's husband and Hessarian was the Magister that put her to the flame."

I jumped up on my knees, bouncing on the bed, my hands smacking against my thighs, "Why do they keep going on about his merciful sword? If he killed her, how is he a good guy?"

"That's a difficult one to..." Cullen glanced back, "Who put you in here? Cassandra?"

"No," I shook my head, then cast a long finger out the door and across the hall. The distance was enough she wasn't visible to me, but I knew she was watching. Always watching. "That demon you call an ambassador. Sweet as pie she calls out, 'Oh, Lady Lavellan, could I have a moment of your time?' Next thing I know, I'm chained to the desk with all of the chantry history dropped on my head and told I needed to digest it all. 'It wouldn't look well for the Herald of Andraste to be shown up by the remaining clerics, now would it?'" My scowl ended on a growl as I recounted the story. "She's had me trapped in here ever since."

"But the door was unlocked," Cullen said, gesturing back to his breaking into my dungeon.

"Check the inside." He tried to lift the latch but found it stuck fast. "I could have picked it in two minutes, but she put me in here specifically to keep an eye from across the hall. My only hope was digging through the floor to drop into the dungeon, but I broke all the spoons."

Finally, he surveyed the mess I made of the room. When my eyes watered from the scratch of the quill that was supposed to be words, I'd break away to do something, anything with my muscles. Tea cups hung suspended off the candelabras bracketed to the wall. Tipping one would drop liquid into another until it tipped enough to drain, then another, until it all collected in the pot at the bottom. I didn't risk the books that seemed more ancient than my clan, but Josephine left me with enough parchment and ink for notes I took to doodling. At first it was small things - trees, rivers, anywhere I could be that wasn't here - then I tried my hand at people. Varric's nose filled his face, my hand unable to get the perspective, and Cassandra's glaring eyes followed one around the room. I was so proud of that one, I tacked it to the wall.

"Maker's breath, how long have you been in here?" Cullen said, his fingers picking at my portrait of Josephine with horns growing out of every pore on her face.

"See that hour glass," I pointed to one stashed on top of the end table just beside the door. "Every hour, that horror in culottes would pop in and flip it over. She did it three times so far."

"Three hours!" Cullen exclaimed, shaking his head. "And in all that time you've only figured out how Andraste died."

Shame curled around my toes as I looked around at the disaster I built up in the room. They were only trying to help. I repeated that to myself often, especially when the talk of shoes rose once again. I understood their stance, the Herald of the burning Lady should know about the Chantry, and Orlais, and the Templars, and mages, and every other damn thing wrong in the world. But I couldn't tamp down the resentment growing in my belly every time I sat down with one of the books, trying to understand what was the point of someone spouting "And Lo when the sun doth set upon the fragrant incense of time, shall the Maker guide our light into the darkest of day." Unless there was a canticle on how to close the damn sky, I wasn't going to find much help in the books.

Sliding my toes out from under me, I perched upon the bed, staring at the floor. "I knew of Andraste before. The Dalish hear things, despite being savage barbarians living in the woods."

Cullen stuttered at my choice of words, "I would never..."

I interrupted him, not meaning to put him out, "She did help to free us from Tevinter. We don't forget that. And Shartan! We know him. Not that it does me any good," I grumbled. Despite the massive history surrounding me, any mention of the elven general was wiped as clean as they could get it. The chantry didn't like being reminded it wasn't just humans that brought down the mighty Tevinter Imperium.

My knees knocked into each other as I continued to apologize for myself, "And I'm trying, but...sweet Creators this is so dry!"

The commander renewed his search through the piles, picking up scrolls and flipping through the pages of books. Cullen snorted, tossing a book down, "I don't know many Templars that could make it through the Blessed's Canticles of Configuration. That seemed to be the era of anything written must be coded through metaphor lest they put you in the stocks for not being colorful enough."

My vigil on the floor broke as I flipped around on the bed to meet his eyes. I never noticed how warm they glowed in candle light. He smiled softly at me, then flipped through more of the books, shaking his head at the inanity of them. "This would be so much easier if I was Elgar'non's Herald," I muttered.

Cullen snickered at that, "That'd please the chantry for certain. The upstart Inquisition is in league with the elven gods. Heretics all around."

I twisted around on the bed and began to gather up the books. He was right, they all were. If I wanted to help I had to play the part, which meant becoming something I never asked to be. No matter how much my brain revolted, I'd have to learn about these foreign names and their importance at some point. But did it have to be now when my hand still throbbed and if I closed my eyes tight I saw the old forests of my clan? Homesickness didn't figure in to saving the world. I picked up the last book, its binding fresher than the others, and added it to the stack.

Cullen reached out to yank it away. "That one's mine, actually," he said, a pinkness tinting his cheeks.

"Oh?" I asked, watching him carefully place it upon the nightstand. Then I looked down at the twisted and wadded blanket below my knees. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I, uh," I hopped off the bed, then tried to reach over to smooth out the evidence I'd spent almost all afternoon rolling on it. "I thought it was Josephine's."

He smiled wanly, then glanced back at my drawing, "It's not trapped in anyway, is it?"

"No, no," I shook my head. "Nothing like that. I may have, um, taken a small nap though. Sorry."

"That's preferable to finding a dead rat in the pillow," he said. For a moment his soft smile caused my stomach to flip. Even my toes, shoeless to spite the ambassador, curled up from the way he looked at me. My cheeks rose in an idiotic grin.

"Nothing like that...and I already said that. I, uh, shit! You probably wanted to sleep, or change, or something..." How had I not realized he slept here too? The commander was always out with the troops running drills, or observing, sometimes just staring off into the horizon as if challenging the breach with his willpower. "I'll just gather all this up and..." I sighed, the weight of my task threatening to crush me, "Maybe if I sit right in front of Josephine trying to re-read the same sentence, she'll realize how fruitless this is."

"I was thinking," Cullen said, "there is a verse that you could use."

"Oh?"

"If any clerics or other Orlesians," he managed to sneer the name only the way a Ferelden could, "give you trouble, recite Canticles 4:35. 'A helping hand, no matter how unlearned the owner, is more useful than all the greatest minds sitting upon theirs.'"

I jumped up and ran towards him. Before he could react, I pinned my arms around Cullen in a hug, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! That will work, right? Just Canticles 4:35." I repeated the verse a few times to myself while still holding tight to the commander. His light blush was into a full on fever burn at this point, but I couldn't bury my exuberance, my legs jumping slightly at the promise of freedom.

"It should get you through Val Royeaux, at least," he said, glancing towards the ceiling.

Shame finally bullied its way through my joy and I released my hold. He reached behind his neck, trying to rub away the burn while I beat my hands together, "Thank you," I repeated, unable to believe the curse was truly broken with just a few words and numbers, "Ma serannas. Creators bless you. Or Andraste, or your Maker, or whomever."

"You're welcome, and if you ever wish to learn more, I would...have time to be willing to teach you. It'd have to be better than reading the annotated version of the Chant."

My smile stretched wider from his offer and I bowed my head. Hearing about all the human gods didn't seem so mind numbing and painful coming from his lips. "And if you ever need to learn about the elven gods, I'm your Dalish savage."

He chuckled, "Perhaps they'll offer guidance to you in Val Royeaux."

I shook my head, "Our gods are all gone. Well, except for Fen'Harel. But you really wouldn't want him around for this." Turning out of the door, I shouted to a passing soldier, "Gather Solas and Varric. I'll tell Cassandra we march for Val Royeaux by morning."

The soldier nodded, but glanced back at the commander. He tipped his head softly enough I probably wasn't supposed to notice. It was a kind gesture from him in a long string of them. Rubbing my legs, I glared through Josephine's open door, but the ambassador didn't come running out. Either she overheard my chanting of the verse that would free me, or wasn't about to challenge the commander.

"I believe I deserve a good run through the woods searching for all the damn elf root I can carry," I declared.

Cullen smiled, "And I wouldn't mind giving the bed a go myself. No dead rats?"

I shook my head, "No fish sewn into the blanket either."

He blinked and reared back, "Maker! If I promise to never trap you in a room for study, will you swear to turn your devious brain upon someone else."

Winking, I said, "For you, anything." Before he had time to recover, I ran out of the chantry savoring the feel of freedom in my muscles, 'Canticles 4:35' chanted under my breath.


	2. Moment of Blushing

The water glittered like polished chainmail under the welcoming sunlight. For once, the Hinterlands rested after we'd dispatched what felt like a few dozen bandits, a pack of demons, and one fennic caught in the crossfire. My body was coated in a crispy shield of blood and muck, thicker than the barrier Solas could throw up. I rolled off my helmet and tried to comb out my hair. Midway down, my fingers snagged upon a clot of blood, which I shook off my hand to splat upon the ground below.

"Right, enough of this," Sera said. She chucked her bow and quiver to the ground.

"What are you doing?" I asked. We hadn't known each other long, though that was true of everyone around me now, but she didn't strike me as the type to give up that easily.

Her mischievous eyes bounced up to me and the grin that sent nobles racing to the privy snapped into place. "Need a wash, got a lake. Seems an easy one there, oh Herald lady." And still staring into my eyes, she unknotted the catch upon her shoulder, working off her mud slathered clothes.

I sighed, tipping my head. She squealed for a moment, as if she won a hand at cards, but the climbing grin froze as I - with more care - lowered my weapons to the ground and tried to find the snaps on this new armor. "You make a good point," I said, wiggling off the first layer. It splattered across the ground, flattening the grass and a half picked embrium plant.

"Wha?" Sera said, pausing as she tried to extract out of her pants.

"The Inquisition's got this place well secured, why not take a swim to clean off?"

"You'd do that, all naked as a slapped baby?"

I'd gotten down to those strange leathers I woke up in after trying to close the breach. It should only take half a day to undo all the buttons. "How else do you bathe?"

Sera snorted, "Shit, figured you elfy elves made woodland fuzz butts fan palm fronds in front of your fun bits."

That drew a chuckle from me, "Nope, this is stage one of our dancing naked under the moonlight retinue."

"Riiight," Sera said, uncertain if I was joking or not. She cracked off her last boot and ran towards the edge. Jumping high, she tucked her legs to her chest and smashed into the pond. She splattered far more water than her body should be capable of dispersing.

I turned to the last of our party staring in any direction but ours, "Anyone else coming along?"

"Dwarfs and swimming don't get on. It's more wading and then drowning than swimming. But you enjoy yourself, say hi to the leeches for me," Varric said. He kept his gaze fixed upon the sky, but another massive splash from Sera caught him. She chased after a bird ruffling upon the water, smacking her hands against the glassy surface and splashing back upon her own face instead of the bird.

"Solas?" I offered.

His disquieting gaze met mine, burning deep and unwavering through my soul. He shook his head, "It seems unwise." I twisted back to Sera now tumbling in the water, literally rolling ass over end before forming a handstand, the breeze ruffling through her exposed hair. I understood his hesitation. He shrugged, "I spotted a curious ruin down the hill and shall visit there instead. But thank you for the offer."

Varric twisted away, "I'll join you, Chuckles."

"I intended to enter the fade," Solas said as uncertain as he got, even as the pair distended down the hill not quite arm in arm.

"Somehow that seems safer right now," Varric answered, their heads vanishing from view. The wafting weeds and grasses provided a small refuge for us from anyone climbing up the hill.

"Are you coming in or not?!" Sera shouted at me.

The boots were the worst part to come undone. It took me nearly an hour to learn how to tie them, only to be told that I'd have to do it again every time I put a pair on. It seemed a fruitless endeavor, but the advisors insisted. Apparently bare feet was a mockery to the Orlesian people, or so Josephine insisted while trying to not stare at my toes. I kept the white, thumbless mittens wadded up in my pocket, uncertain what they had to do with feet. My fumbling knotted the laces, but I wiggled out using my heel and tossed the pair beside the rest of my clothes. Rolling all the armor together into a giant ball of mud, I secured them beneath a tree's roots.

Rather than run head first into the water, I stepped in slowly. The chill nipped at my ankles, unsurprising this far south yet still bracing, but with each step as I immersed deeper, my body adjusted to the biting cold until I stood shoulder deep. Unprepared to dip my face below the frigid surface, I cupped water in my hands to splatter across the mud. A few fancy dabs wasn't going to be enough, so I scrubbed across my cheeks, trying to work it all off.

Sera paddled further to the middle of the lake, her swimming a mix of bear clawing and smacking at the water like it owed her money. "Do all you elfy elves really do this?"

"Yes," I said. Dipping my head back, I tried to dunk my hair without going under. Fully immersing was going to take more courage than facing down the breach or an angry Seeker. "Why is that surprising?"

"Dunno, just never thought about a bunch of naked women splashing about in the woods. Oh wait, now I have," she chuckled, then drew her face like tasting something bitter. "Ugh!"

"What?" I snapped up, my muscles tensing. Danger could be lurking anywhere, even below the lake. Demon fish seemed as likely as anything else these days.

"Elves are too scrawny, like gripping a leather bag stuffed with matchsticks. You want to feel some meat, not bone."

"Oh..." I muttered, swirling the water below my fingers.

She twisted around to face me, the sparkling light shadowing her form, "Wha'? Do you care? Why?"

"I, it's just..."

"You want to be panting on top of me? Knocking around my nobbies?" she asked point blank.

"No, not particularly..." I glanced away. This felt like a trap I paddled into, and one I wasn't going to find an easy way to free myself from.

But Sera snorted, unsurprised by my answer. "So who gives a shit? Way I see it, you should only care if the one whose fun bits you want to touch wants to do the same. Otherwise, it's just a headache."

"That makes a disturbing amount of sense," I stuttered.

"I know," Sera said, smug from my approval. "For what it's worth you're pretty and your tits are nice. Better?"

I chuckled at her acquiescing, "Yes, it is."

"Still got a scrawny ass though," she said before submerging into the lake. I paddled closer towards her, curious to see what she was up to. Despite a clear top to the lake, murkiness lurked below, obscuring Sera. Mud bloomed a few feet below the surface, as if someone was digging into the lake's bottom. Beside me, the water erupted, launching the naked elf high into the air, her arm extended in triumph. Clutched inside it was a rotted log, which she then twirled around still holding aloft. I was about to ask her why, when she paused and pointed towards the shore.

Flipping around I spotted one of the Inquisition soldiers standing close to the edge. He held his hand above his nose, obscuring us from his sight. "Herald, Ma'am, um..."

"What is it?" I shouted so he'd hear. Knowing my luck, a fade rift plopped open above the crossroads and I needed to close it.

"Ma'am, um, Herald."

"You said that bit already," Sera called. I was still mostly submerged so only my face and a bit of shoulder were exposed but she was bouncing around, not a care in Thedas.

"Right, I was sent to see you- to tell you, that someone is looking for you."

"They sent someone to tell me someone's coming to talk to me?" I tried to parse his awkward rambling. "Why didn't they just tell you whatever it is I need to hear?"

"Don't know Ma'am, Ser, Herald! Maker, I am banished to the void for this." He uttered that last bit to himself, but across the pristine surface of the lake it carried like a bell.

I took pity on him and waved my hand, "Send them up here, it'll be fine."

"Yes, your worship!" he cried, saluted, and spun on his heels running down the slope towards the camp.

Sera slopped an arm across my shoulder, using me as leverage to watch the man chasing for his dignity. "You scared the green right off 'im. Almost think he'd never seen a naked worship before."

I shook my head at her amusement, and kicked away. Rising my legs level with the surface, I leaned back into a soothing float across the surface of the pond. I was certain to get another lecture back at Skyhold for that one, but at the moment all I cared about was the sun baking across my exposed 'nice tits' and down my stomach. Paddling lightly with my fingers, I drifted away from Sera who was back to her digging in the muck.

After she resurfaced, chucking the rescued log onto the further shore, I spoke up, "You didn't secure your clothing before jumping in."

"Wozzat?"

With my eyes screwed tight against the blinding sun, my mind drifted back to the clan so far away it crushed my heart to think about it. "When I was younger, some of us spotted a clearing in the middle of a dense thicket. Bluest pond I've ever seen, more glass than glass. Of course we all strip down and jump in, ecstatic to find this after the pulverizing height of summer."

"Is this one of those 'Dear Randy Dowager, You're never going to believe this, but...' stories?" Sera interrupted.

"I have no idea what that means," I said.

Sera didn't think she needed to explain, and instead responded, "They never printed mine, but it was totally true."

"Anyway," I tried to return to my little parable, "after cooling off, we all climb out and get dressed. Except I couldn't find my tunic anywhere. I've got on my pants, gauntlets, even a belt, but no shirt. Then one of clan members spots a flutter of familiar fabric bouncing against the ground far in the distance." I twisted from my form to try and catch her eye, my legs sliding out of the float, "A family of gophers nabbed my tunic and made off with it. By the time we caught up, they'd stuffed most of it down a hole, what bits they didn't chew off snagged on a branch outside. I had to march all through the woods to face down my- the Keeper bare breasted. And not one to let that moment go, she berated me for losing my clothing and wasting clan resources while I was still shirtless."

Sera twisted away, either thinking on my words or having spotted something shiny. I returned to my float, savoring the sun beating down upon my brow. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah," she said, "don't have a shite Keeper."

"That's -" my words faded away as I rethought hers. Sometimes the depth of her bobbing wisdom frightened me. I suspect it did for her as well; it was hard to skate through life above everything when your rudder jammed itself into the occasional reef of truth.

"So, are you gonna call me it now?" her words, once light and airy, darkened the water. She banged the rotted log against her hand. It'd be intimidating if it didn't shatter with every hit.

"Call you what?" my words were flippant, lost in her meaning.

She glared at me, "You know what. That thing that means I'm not right. Not good enough. Your kind are always throwing it around like, like this!" With an impressive arm, she hurled the rotted log against the shore. It erupted into bark shrapnel.

I blinked for a moment, trying to summon my brain to track where this conversation went. "I don't...oh," I realized what she referred to now. It wasn't one of my favorite of names, but I wasn't without guilt either. "I hadn't intended to call you it."

"Yeah right, it's what they all say when there's an audience. Can't have the Herald thingie being all mean to the little people. Wouldn't sell well on plates."

"Sera, I swear it never crossed my mind," I dipped out of my float to try and face her, but she was staring across the horizon.

"What, what if I called you pointy ears? Huh? How do you like that?! Pointy ears? It's stupid, I know. Hate it. Ain't got nothing against it, not even arrows work."

"I'm sorry. For what's it worth, I don't think of you like that."

She snorted at that, smashing her hands against the water. "I get it, you fall off that high Dalish horse and suddenly come face to face with some of us 'not of the people' people. Now it's a different tune, we're all kissy kiss faces and you'd never had a stray bad thought."

"I..." sinking deeper into the lake, I shrugged, "you're right."

"I wha'?"

"Meeting elves, other elves that aren't Dalish has altered my perspective. I, I promise I won't ever call you that word."

Her eyes widened, "Never expected you to say that. Figured it'd be all 'Oh no, I'm above such petty squabbles because the old ones knew how to blow farts that smelled like strawberries.'"

I chuckled at that, "Spend a night trapped in an aravel after a supper of lentils and you'll know that's not true."

Sera smiled, "A'right, you're okay for now. Just okay." She dipped back under the surface, hunting for more logs to unearth from their watery graves. Whatever came over her, vanished as quickly as a puff of smoke. I slipped back into my float, trying to not mentally collate every time I used the phrase 'flat ears.'

Still, it was a beautiful day, and I had accumulated enough demon ichor to keep alchemists employed for weeks yet to scrub free. Parting my arms wider, I reached towards the separate shores, savoring the stretch of my muscles and the minor pop of a vertebra slipping back into place. Blessed creators, I was going to need a run-up to crack the rest of them.

"Herald, Cutter said you were up here and...oh shi- Maker's breath! I, um, I...this is-"

Oh, gods no. A blush streamed up from my ankles to circle across my abdomen. My still very exposed, very naked abdomen. For a moment I thought I could maintain my balance, perhaps even pretend I didn't hear him, but the shock yanked my arm out of position. Like the sinking of a ship, my ass plummeted out of my float, dragging my head with it. Water gushed into my still opened nostrils, but I had the good sense to close my mouth as I went under.

Blinking against the murk of the lake, I focused on getting my limbs under control and paddled to surface. But sweet creators not too high! Somehow I only broke my face and a few inch of shoulders, gasping for the breath I forgot to take before sliding under. Fire burned through my nose and down my throat, vengeful at its mistreatment. I tried to as dignified as possible cough out the lake water and a, "Commander?"

"I wasn't told, he didn't mention..." Cullen stammered in terror, before anger wrung his words, "I'm going to strangle that man." It growled out in such a terrifying fashion, I almost feared for the scout.

Wiping my waterlogged hair out of my face, I could finally see the commander standing at the edge of the lake. He stared off in the distance towards a not naked speck on the horizon, but the crimson blush was evident even at this distance. I began to speak, but coughed a bit, trying to drag my voice down from a squeak.

"What did you need?" I dropped lower into the water until only my mouth gurgled above, hoping the shifting mud of the lake would camouflage my body.

Cullen still kept his focus out towards the mountains, his fingers twiddling with that sword upon his hip. "I was inspecting the new watchtowers. They finished the third and I thought you could inform the horsemaster about it. Dennet's got peculiar ideas, but is a pious man. You're most likely to convince him." He shouted that part sort of towards me, but then his voice trembled in a whisper, "Andraste, preserve me." But thanks to those lake acoustics I heard it as if I stood beside him. Which I was grateful at the moment I didn't! Far away from the commander was best.

"Good, good, good," I said, stuck on a loop. "Um," that wasn't enough. I needed to tell him something Heraldy. "It would be wise to double patrols around the one overlooking Witchwood until we're certain all apostates have been swept up."

A clatter broke from the grass as Cullen's sword tipped over from his terrified fumbling and plopped on the ground. His eyes still screwed upon a horizon without a naked Herald, he dipped down, blind fingers trying to scoop up the sword. "A good idea, your worship," he said, then shuddered while trying to sheathe his lost sword. I'm not certain if it was the use of worship or the blatant metaphor that got him.

Neither missed Sera who whooped and smacked into the water, trying to draw his attention. I whipped my head to her and glared, but Cullen didn't take the bait.

"If that's- you have no more, I'll be getting back to, doing what you suggested. Herald." He bowed again, then inched back down the incline, his mind wanting to run but his body to terrified to try.

"Fenheedis," I cursed under my breath, slipping back under the water. Counting to thirty, I surfaced to watch the shore.

"He's gone," Sera said, "ain't seen no one else."

More than likely, he'd have thrown up a barricade to keep any other wayward scouts from stumbling across us. Or strapping commanders with sunset colored eyes...and I really shouldn't be thinking that, for a whole host of reasons. Shaking my head at the foolish notion, I walked towards the shore, keeping everything below my chin submerged. Even as I hit the sandbar, I dropped to my knees rather than risk anyone else running out of the brush and spotting me.

Sera watched me, for once silent, as I jumped onto the shore and fished for my discarded armor. Sliding into it sopping wet wasn't wise, but sitting around to dry seemed the greater risk. It wasn't until I buttoned on the pants, fumbling with those blasted shoes, that she cracked into a massive laugh. Continuing for over a minute, she doubled into the water, bubbles bursting from her lips willowing against the surface.

"What?" I asked. A small part of my mind noted I was once again facing down accusations while shirtless. Was I cursed as a child?

Wiping off her face, and digging lake water from her nose, she sang song, "You've got a giggling girly full mack on for him."

"I...have no idea what you're talking about," I stuttered, willing away that cursed blush now covered in wet leather.

But Sera only snorted at my obfuscation, not about to let her lead go so easily. "Cullen is..." I wiped at the back of my neck, trying to summon words that would appease her without damning me. "A kind man. I appreciate the concern he's shown me."

"And how he looks in that tight armor," she said, snickering.

"There is that," I sighed, then clawed back to catch myself. "I mean, that wasn't what I tried to imply. Only that he wears armor. And I noticed that."

Sera's bullhorn of a laugh scattered birds from the trees. She clutched tightly to her ribs, and twisted in the water. Wiping away a tear, she said, "I's all right. So you like 'em big and muscley. So do I, funny enough. Just prefer an innie to an outtie. No chicken necks for us."

"Sera," I sighed, sagging from the taunts dangling in the air.

She half swam, half ran through the water and plopped down in the grass beside me. "Don't worry. It's all good. Well, might want to inspect his sword to make certain things'll fit right." Sera sneered at the thought, at first I hoped uncomfortable with the topic herself, but she shuddered and said, "Not sure why it's fun having stuff shoved up in there anyway."

"Please," I reached out, prepared to make whatever bargain necessary to keep this quiet, "don't tell anyone. Everything's all, with the breach and, just please."

She patted my hand and said, "Your moon eyes with Marchy Boots is zipped tight, unless you need a Jenny to pick it."

Sighing, I slid my hand away, accepting her jumbled and confusing words as a promise. Wiggling into the shirt, I scooped up my armor. It'd need a chisel to hack it apart at this point. While I leaned over to scoop up my bow, I heard a tsk behind me.

Sera tapped her finger against her lips and said, "Might have to ask Cullen his thoughts on a scrawny arse though."


	3. Moment of Grief

In reaching for a map tack, my arm scattered a pile of letters to the ground. I watched their fall as did the advisors, some fluttering away in the snow tinged breeze. Josephine tried to catch a few, then dropped down to gather them. "Apologies Inquisitor. These were supposed to be delivered to my desk. We're still training some of the volunteers that only arrived in Skyhold."

"How hard is it to understand don't put things on the big map?" Cullen asked. He grumbled at Josie taking the time to reorganize and file each letter but a smile danced upon his lips when he looked away.

Leliana picked up each letter as Josephine laid them back upon the table. "Instrumentally difficult for those who cannot read. This should have arrived to my attention days ago…and that one as well."

I peered over the spymaster's reach and read the inscription upon the envelope. _To Her Lady Lavellan_. "What's in all of these?" I asked, bending over to assist Josephine.

"Most are threats disguised as congratulations," she answered flipping through the stack, yanking one out, and slotting it in a new place.

"Threats? Is Skyhold in danger?" I asked.

"We don't have the manpower to support an attack," Cullen added, duty blowing away his moment of levity.

"It is politics," Josephine said, waving a hand. "Every noble house needs to present itself as cautious but open to the Inquisition that moved its location to a fortified hold. Just be thankful they didn't all decide to send the traditional warning of a bloodied dagger."

"Yes," Leliana said, turning away and most likely staring at the recesses where she hid all the visceral weapons.

"Should I be answering these?" I asked, dread thudding into my stomach as I flipped through the massive stack. Learning their tongue to handle the wandering tradesman at a young age was simple, but writing never came up. I only knew a few written words of Free Marcher when my keeper sent me to the conclave. Varric considered it his job to get me as literate as possible so I could read all the dirty graffiti, but in between stopping a rebellion, losing Haven, and discovering Skyhold, time slipped away.

Josephine seemed to sense my discomfort as she gathered the letters and smiled, "No, I can handle the correspondence. A writ of 'The Inquisition thanks your for your generosity, but we are more than capable to stand on our own' will suffice."

I nodded my head, grateful for the freedom. She paused and flipped through the stack again, "Oh, but this one you might wish to answer yourself. I believe it comes via your clan."

"My clan?"

Unearthing a letter more yellow and stained than the others, she handed it over, "The instructions were not written in elvish but it has your first name instead of Lavellan."

It took some adjusting to everyone calling me by only the clan name, when they bothered. Inquisitor seemed to be enough for people to get by. I asked Varric once why it was only Herald this and Herald that. He claimed that elven names were too hard on the tongue and it'd be better if I went by something easier like Itchy. That was probably another reason why my reading lessons came to a standstill.

Fishing a dagger out of my back pocket, I slit the seal and opened the letter. The smell of raw earth burst free from the paper and homesickness tugged on me. They'd be under a proper late summer back home, a few leaves turning early while the orange of the sun warmed the forest until it glowed. As opposed to sitting on a mountaintop accepting that I may very well never be warm ever again.

I unfolded the letter fully and twisted it towards the light from the windows. "Da'len, it is with a heavy heart I write this."

My chest constricted, terror clawing up my throat. My eyes zipped around the letter, taking in only a few words and not full sentences. "He was lost" "found the body" "The templars" "din'an."

Tucked at the bottom, below my keeper's signature was the song I could not sing with my clan.

 _"hahren na melana sahlin_

 _emma ir abelas_

 _souver'inan isala hamin_

 _vhenan him dor'felas_

 _in uthenera na revas_

 _vir sulahn'nehn_

 _vir dirthera_

 _vir samahl la numin_

 _vir lath sa'vunin"_

Breath shuddered in my chest, the letter shaking as I fought to find composure. I felt three shemlan staring at me and looked up.

"Inquisitor?" Josephine asked, "Are you all right? You've gone quite pale." She turned back to Leliana, always watching the spymaster for the best move.

I quickly folded up the letter to hide it from the nightingale. "I am fine, I need to attend to things," I said, turning away from them before they could react. The Inquisitor couldn't be seen running, that would cause a panic, but a quick walk was fine. My step stumbled as I remembered it wasn't Josephine, Leliana, or even Cullen who told me that. Grabbing onto the wall, my lungs screamed for air, unnaturally speeding up my breaths. All around me were the trappings of them; tables, walls, shields, and banners that declared this the shemlan Inquisition.

They may have placed an elf at the head, but it was all humans behind. Humans who made it, humans who ruled it. I was little more than a puppet dragged into this first by chains, then the…I flexed my fingers, green from the anchor bursting off my palm. If it weren't for this _curse_ I could have returned home to my clan, left this Inquisition in the hands of the shemlan who wanted it.

A statue of Andraste peered down at me. She was only partially carved, the sculptor pulling her face from the stone unable to find the time to move on to the rest of her. Before I thought nothing of it; their messiah sitting in the throne room had little reflection upon me. It seemed to give them hope, a reason to keep fighting against a man who would be a god. But now I recognized it for what it truly was. Her eyes bore into me, telling me the truth I was once too belligerent to see.

Clutching the letter tighter to my chest, I shoved open the door and ran up the steps to my quarters. Pieces of armor hung in the wardrobe, each labelled and oiled in preparation for the Inquisitor's next ride. I pulled out a coat and slipped an arm in when the glinting button drew my attention. The eye of the Inquisition gazed off of me through the mirror. It taunted the same as Andraste did. _What do you think gives you the right to belong here?_ Throwing the shemlan symbol off, I prodded through the piles of armor I gathered from across southern Thedas. Every one was emblazoned with the same eye daring me to challenge its power.

I was about to give up when my fingers pushed aside a helmet revealing a glint of chainmail below forest green fabric. Yanking it out from the bottom of the wardrobe, I unfurled the armor I set out for the conclave in. Leliana returned it to me after I'd proven myself. Pain stung my eyes. I wiped up my cheek to find a stream of tears falling. Through the mist, I slipped on my old hunting outfit. The exposed arms and legs weren't designed for the cold of the mountains, but I didn't dare grab a coat or fur marked with the Inquisition.

Gathering up my bag, I slotted my daggers into place, picked up an old bow, and walked away from everything. No one questioned me. Dennet even saddled the horse for me, chatting about his wife. Placing the bag upon my horse, I turned her towards the door and drove her deeper into the mountains as far from the shems as I could get.

Three days I slogged through the snow, avoiding roads and any of the banners dotting the landscape; marking the mountain as the Inquisition's. After the first day, I sent the horse back, certain she was smart enough to find her way. I'd avoided travelers and scouts by hiding further up the hills and moving at night, but someone was tracking me. Too many ravens flew in the skies.

Dousing the fire, I snatched up my few provisions and dashed higher up the crags of rock poking through the ground like broken bones. Blinding white stretched endlessly in almost all directions. Only the black cliffs where even snow couldn't cling broke it up. I slipped behind an outcropping of rock hiding myself from my meager campsite. Peering over the edge, I watched a pair of helmets glinting in the afternoon sun. They circled around a point when I doubled back to leave thicker footprints overtop my old ones.

One seemed to fall for the trick, but another head pointed towards my direction and the trickle of smoke from the dying fire. Two of the shems turned off, following my false trail down the mountain but the helmlet-less one stepped towards my hiding spot. Escape meant exposing myself or taking a short fall off the cliff.

 _This shouldn_ _'_ _t be so hard! I_ _'_ _m dalish, for creator_ _'_ _s sake! Hiding from shemlen is something we learn while cutting our teeth. But I grew up in the woods of the Marches. I have no idea how to hide my footprints in the snow._ My heart pounded in my ears as I dipped lower and slid the bow off my shoulders. Holding my breath, I heard the struggles of someone huffing through the snow. He wasn't used to it reaching up to his calves, but handled it better than I did in making the camp.

Notching an arrow, I ran my fingers up and down the bow. Countless battles facing down every horror the fade could throw at me and this was the first time doubt rose. What if they wouldn't let me go? Could I kill one and flee? Or would that only encourage them to come after my clan, to drag me back?

I heard a boot kick into the few fireplace stones I rounded up, jangling armor across the man's shoulders. Why couldn't they leave well enough alone? If the shems did, maybe he'd still be alive.

Gripping tightly to the bow, I rose up from my cover and drew the string back. My thumb burrowed into my cheek as I lined up the shot at the man prodding around my campsite.

Cullen drew his sword from the threat, then blinked. "Inquisitor?" he asked uncertain, as if unable to tell elves apart.

"That is not my name," I hissed.

He held his sword out and slowly lowered it to the snow. I tracked his movements with the arrow vibrating in rage. "When your horse returned without you we grew concerned."

"You should have let me go," I said, aiming for his midsection. There was armor beneathe. It was unlikely to be a fatal blow but enough to distract him and give me time.

Cullen held up his hands making no moves to attack, "Please, tell me what's wrong."

"What's wrong? What's wrong?" I cried, my aim slipping, "He's dead, that's what's wrong. My brother. Shemlan killed him." Survival kept my grief at bay, forcing me to focus only on the second I breathed and not to think back to the past when my brother yet lived or the looming future without him.

"I'm so sorry," Cullen said, unease folding his brow.

I shook my head, trying to clear the tears. I didn't want remorse, I wanted…I wanted things back the way they were. But that was impossible. I didn't see companions in a fight against Corypheus, only murders of my people. "It does not matter. Sorry or no, I cannot remain."

"Why?"

"I'm an elf, and a barbarian dalish at that, pretending I have some power in this world of humans. What change can I possibly make? How do I stop _this_?! There is nothing I can do but sit on high paraded about as the pet knife ear as my people, my clan, get slaughtered by shems scared of their own shadows."

He softened at my rant, his face falling. Cullen dipped his head to whisper, "We need you."

"Because of the anchor?" I spat back. My muscles screamed for me to release the arrow, but I held firm.

Cullen shook his head, "You've done so much, more than we could have hoped for. Even not knowing what enemy we faced, you charged in and put your life on the line."

"I did what had to be done."

He stared at me in disbelief, "You did so much more than that. Stopping an ancient magister wasn't a duty you signed on for."

"If this is your way of convincing me to stay, you're doing a lousy job," I said.

"I could tell you that no matter where you go, Corypheus will be a threat. That he could come, not just for you, but your clan as well." Cullen stepped forward, only one foot, but it was enough to snap my waning arm back up. He held up a hand and continued, "But I trust that you'll do the right thing."

I barked a laugh at his earnestness, "Trust? You barely know me. It's been, what, a few months since Cassandra chained me up and threatened to have me executed? For all you know, I'm the homicidal elf all good little andrastians fear."

"I don't believe that," he said, putting his neck on the line.

"Why?"

"You could have run at anytime, but you didn't. With each step, you've shown mercy across Ferelden. All those people you stopped to save during Haven's attack prove it."

My arms dropped, the arrow slackening until it slipped off falling to the ground. I fell to my knees with it, the cold of the snow chewing through my legs. My brother used to believe in humans. He thought that if we just talked we could find some common ground and finally come to an understanding. Most people thought he was too idealistic if they were being kind, demented if not.

"Cariad was our keeper's first," I spoke to myself, as if trying to draw an outline of my brother before me. "He was so studious, always locked up in the aravel with the keeper while I was falling into mud and picking off wolves. Not that he didn't get into some messes. One time, Cariad hid a bag of spiders in our Heren's bedclothes. The screams echoed through the forest for a week.

"The Keeper almost sent him along to the conclave, but he thought it unwise to leave. A clan needs its first. I keep thinking if he'd gone and I'd stayed back maybe he'd have this cursed thing," I glared at my hand, the green light flaring with my grief, "and you'd have a proper Inquisitor."

Cullen fell to his knees, the snow impacting deeper from his weight, and he slid closer to me, "We have an amazing Inquisitor."

His eyes pleaded with me, and for a moment my breath paused. But I turned away, unable to tell him what he wanted to hear, "All I feel is anger. I want to find the shems that did it and punish them. Make their deaths painfully slow." My fingers curled tight around my bow, drawing it closer.

"I understand," Cullen said.

I reared back, "How? You're not dalish." I stated the obvious in case he forgot.

A shadow fell over his face, his mouth slackening as he whispered, "I lost myself for a long time to anger. Too long. I never took the time to grieve. And when I did, I…" He paused and looked upward at the rift still hovering above Haven, "I feared it was too late. That nothing I did could absolve my mistakes."

Curiosity broke through my cloud and I tried to catch his eyes, "What happened?"

"I," he shook his head, a mask falling in place, one I never realized he wore. "I am not ready to speak of it. Perhaps one day."

"Is this why you no longer take lyrium?"

Cullen nodded his head, then flinched, "Sorry, I've somehow made this all about myself."

I laughed at that while batting away tears with my left hand. The anchor burst off my palm and I pulled it away. Reaching over, I scooped up a bit of the snow and watched it melt from the power. "What should I do?" My plea was to the creator gods taken from us, no longer able to listen.

But Cullen could answer, "Take time for yourself. Grieve. If you can forgive, we would welcome your return. There are few in thedas like you."

I nodded softly, uncertain what he meant. He rose up and held a hand out to me. Glancing up his arm, I found a port in the storm behind his eyes. Cullen helped me rise; he even picked up my lost arrow and handed it back. I rolled it between my fingers and asked, "What about the others? I assume Leliana has already sent scouts to my clan."

Cullen smiled, "Don't worry, I can take care of it." He batted at the snow sinking into his greaves, mostly digging it deeper in, and picked up his discarded sword. He turned away, back towards the road leaving me alone with my thoughts. I ran my fingers along the fletching on my arrow and stared up at the rift in the sky.

A week passed before I returned through the gates of the Inquisition. My heart hurt and my eyes burned, but the world needed me. And I no longer felt the burning desire to kill every human I saw.

After nodding to a few guards who did a double take upon seeing the Inquisitor dressed so simply, Iron Bull approached. "Boss! You're back! Glad to see your dalish thing is done."

"My dalish thing?" I asked.

"Please tell me you have something that needs killing. It's so boring here without you."

I smiled at the massive qunari carrying two water pails off each of his horns, "Tavern girls not enough for you?"

"If a few of them tried to slit my throat in the night, maybe," Bull said. He spotted one of those tavern girls waving for him to get her water, and walked towards her. Behind him he called, "Give a shout when you want to go after a dragon."

People showed deference but no one shouted at me or questioned my absence. Most greeted me warmly, unaware of the battle I raged inside my own soul. In the war room, I found all three advisors standing around the table.

"Inquisitor!" Josephine called, her board bobbing in excitement, "you've returned!"

"So I have," I said, trying to hide the uncertainty in my voice.

"Wonderful. I trust all went well with your ritual?"

I turned away from Josie's almost puppy dog enthusiasm to catch a smirk across Cullen's lips. It was just enough to lift that little scar. Burying my own laugh I said, "Yes, it turned out well and was much needed."

"I understand that they're a private thing you cannot share with outsiders, but please, I ask that you inform us when another needs to take place," Josephine said, backpedaling to be as respectful as possible.

I smiled, "Of course. Though, I hope I will not need to attend to this dalish ritual for a long time."

"Good," Leliana said, folding her arms. She didn't buy Cullen's lie, but she wasn't about to call either of us on it. Though, she'd be a pretty poor spymaster if she did.

Dropping my bag to the floor, I leaned over the map and said, "Right, let's get to business. We have a war to win."


	4. Moment of Competition

_This is part of my moments series which are vignettes about the buildup of a relationship between Cullen and the Inquisitor. Just little extra cutscenes between the ones we already know and love._

Metal clanged against metal, echoing through the deserted yard beside the stables. A rare warm afternoon beat down upon Skyhold, scattering people throughout the grounds to lay back and enjoy the day. It was wise to take a break every now and then to enjoy that world you're supposed to be saving.

Another sound of sword smashing against shield piqued my curiosity. Trailing past the closed stalls, a Seeker jumped backwards into view. Cassandra wiped at her forehead with the back of her hand while still holding her sword. She nodded at her opponent. I stepped further into view to spot the commander inspecting his shield for damage. In the warmness of the sun, he'd forgone his armor for a tan shift and breeches. Surprising. I assumed he had no idea how to take all that armor off and slept in it.

"Nice try, Commander," Cassandra said, slicking her bangs out of her eyes.

"I nearly had you that time," Cullen said.

Cassandra snorted, "So you keep thinking."

He raised his sword up in preparation for another round then spotted my interloping. "Inquisitor!" Cullen called, giving away my position.

Cassandra turned and gave a curt nod. She spun back to resume battle when her stance slackened. "Do you have a moment?" she shouted to me.

"Assuming no dragons fall from the sky," I said, crossing towards them.

She looked up to make certain my flippant words didn't become truth, then shook her head, "There is a matter that you might be the only one to solve."

"Don't tell me, Chaisned threw a pig at the walls."

"That would be useful," Cullen said. "Fresh pork for dinner instead of the remaining tack?"

"Oh, a rasher of bacon in the morning," I said, my stomach grumbling at the optimism.

"That would be preferable to whatever eggs the cook's scrounged up," he said, glancing back to the kitchen door propped open. Servants wandered in and out, trying to scoot past the qunari filling the door. I'd ask what Bull was doing in the kitchen but I doubt I really wanted the answer. "What kind of bird do they come from?"

I flicked my eyes from the kitchen to the commander and half whispered, "I hear they're actually wyvern eggs." His head snapped back and with a straight face I nodded, "Oh yes, cook's an old master at arms. Took down two dragons with just her perry knife." Cullen chuckled at my absurdity but nodded his head as if he partially believed it.

Cassandra sighed at the two of us and continued her march to business. She sheathed her sword and waved me towards a mass of crates beside the wall. A few soldiers sat beside them, picking at the grass and bathing in the sun. Corypheus, godhood, and a giant rift in the sky seemed an entire world away today. But, at the Seekers approach, both jumped up and saluted. Cassandra ignored them as she spoke to me, "Courtesy of your inroads at the Exalted Plains."

"Oh?" I asked, leaning closer.

She cracked open the crate and reached inside, "A dozen or so Dalish bows." Cassandra passed to me the first bow she unearthed polished white with small halla antlers weaved onto the ends in the event prey drew too close. More than a few bandits who wandered foolishly into Dalish territory lost an eye or worse upon them.

My fingers traced the markings for Ghilan'nain etched along the wood. "They're well made, from ironbark no less. A good gift," I said. It was years before I got my first ironbark bow, the master craftsman tired of mending broken sights. I had to prove my worth and that I could maintain my weapons.

"Yes," Cassandra said, picking up another. "The problem is no one here knows how to string one." She gestured to the embarrassed soldier holding out a bow, a string of linen dangling limply from the antler and not the limb. I couldn't wipe a smile off my face as I picked both away from the poor man. Sliding the loop over the proper top limb, I bent the bow under my arm and pulled the string down to attach it at the bottom. Releasing the bend, the bow snapped back to normal, pulling the taut string with it.

I twisted to the side and tested the bowstring, aiming a phantom arrow at the unimpressed hart in our stable. Pleased, I handed it to the soldier and said, "There, that's how you do it."

"Uh, thank you," he said, turning the bow over in his hand as if it were about to bite him.

Cassandra grunted, grateful that the matter was settled and returned to Cullen. "Commander, another round?"

He smiled and rose up from his seat on the well, shaking off any weariness. He moved to unsheathe his blade, but paused to glare at the sun. "Give me a moment," he said. Without any concern for people watching who could become easily distracted, he yanked the shift over his head. Sweat glistened across his alabaster skin, getting perhaps its first dose of sunlight in years. Tossing the shift out of the way, he lifted his sword towards Cassandra, flexing a bicep chiseled from its own ironbark.

I watched transfixed at the lines of his body as muscle rose to meet against each of Cassandra's blows. She; however, seemed unaffected by the display, carrying on a polite conversation while attacking him. Blessed creators, even his pants twisted with each move, exposing hidden thigh muscles normally eclipsed by his armor.

"Inquisitor?"

The fighters met in combat, shield against shield. Cullen spun around exposing back muscles I wanted to bight into.

"Inquisitor!"

"Wha?" The crying plea broke me from the spell and I turned to find the soldiers literally tied up. A bow dangled off the line running from one soldier's ear to the other's foot of all things. "How did you..." I stuttered trying to find sense.

"Could you show us how to string these again?"

"Slower, please," the second soldier added.

Unknotting both of them I nodded, "Sure. Here, we take this loop and..."

They watched enraptured as I paused in each step and explained them. Then, for good measure, I repeated the whole procedure two more times. When the soldiers finally felt prepared enough to strike out on their own, I turned back to find the show ended. Cassandra shook Cullen's hand, "Not bad, Commander. Though you're still leaving your left flank open."

"And you put all your weight on your right foot when back swinging."

I picked up one of the strung bows, and twanged it. "Is it my turn?" I asked, drawing their attention.

Cassandra held her hands up, "I know better than to challenge someone to an archery contest."

Cocking an eye, I turned to Cullen, "What about you? Or did you only learn knife play in the templars?"

He dropped his shield and wiped his hands along his pants, "I've done a bit of shooting in the past."

"That's a yes, then?" I smiled, throwing him a bow. I pointed to the few targets stationed beside the wall. Dummies stuffed with straw, but someone took the time to paint circles on the vital organs of face and middle of the chest. Both were about thirty feet away.

Sliding my boot across the ground, I drew a line in the dirt. "Won't we need arrows?" Cullen asked, stepping beside me and straddling the line. He pricked at the string like a lutist facing down her first performance.

I smiled at him and pushed aside some of the grass beside the wall. A full quiver sat beside it. While jamming each arrow into the ground, I said, "The good thing about living in a hold, it's easy to find arrows."

"Daggers too," Cassandra said. She slid back to the safety behind us and leaned against the well. "An entire barrel's worth."

"I talked to Cole about that," I said, notching an arrow. "I still don't get what he needs a wheel of cheese for."

"Demon cheese?" Cassandra asked. I didn't turn to look at her as I raised my arms up, pulling the string back to my mouth.

"Wait!" Cullen cried. He passed me his bow and jogged towards his dummy. Wrapping it into a massive hug, he picked the dummy up, scattering straw like a trail, and dropped it maybe ten feet away from the line.

After taking the bow back from me, he nodded and said, "That should make it fair."

I only cocked an eyebrow at him but didn't say anything. Stepping to the line, I drew the string back against my cheek and fired. The arrow sunk deep into the dummy's neck. Turning, I caught Cullen, his draw arm dipping low as he fired. His arrow drew near to the heart, hitting the red. He jumped a bit at his score, then sheepishly turned to me. "Not bad for being out of practice."

"No, it's decent," I said, notching my second arrow.

"Decent?" he joked. Pride shined in his eyes as he yanked his arrow out of the ground and slid it above his fingers. "That's a kill shot."

"Congratulations, Commander," I said, "you killed a straw man. You're certain to get a knighthood for it."

"If it comes with parading around in ruffles in court, I'll pass."

While he drew his string back, I said nonchalantly, "You know, this really isn't fair." He laughed at my half hearted complaint, still aiming. I loosed my arrow into the dummy's head and turned to watch him. His arm weaved a bit from the strain, and he bit into his lip to concentrate. Smiling, I said, "I should take off my shirt to even the odds."

Cullen started, his finger's losing their hold. His wayward arrow sprang wild to the left, flying up towards the staircase. It wobbled a bit before sticking an inch deep into Iron Bull's backside. The qunari barely flinched as he turned back to glare at whoever shot him. Cullen gulped, waving his bow as if that was an apology. Bull yanked the arrow free, blood trickling down from the wound. He sniffed the arrow and threw it the ground, then ambled on his way.

A blush burned up Cullen's chest and across his cheeks, as bright as if the sun did it to him. He stared straight ahead at the spot where Bull tossed his arrow.

"Commander," Cassandra said. "You need to work on your aim."

Her voice was flat, but I swore I caught a smile crinkling up her eyes. Cullen sighed, swallowing down the blow to his pride.

I patted him on the back, my fingers following along the crease of his shoulder muscles, "One for you and one for me. I believe we're tied up."

A smile broke through the embarrassment and he nodded his head while the blush faded. "Right, three more turns left to crown the winner."

"Try to not shoot anymore people," Cassandra said. "We might need them later."

"I'll take it under counsel, Seeker," he said. His hands shook as he reached for an arrow, but I ran my fingers over them. Smiling lopsidedly at me, he plucked up the arrow and aimed.

"It is a lucky thing the arrows are not barbed," Cullen said, mentally scoring his hit.

I sighed and said, "I doubt that would have slowed Bull down."

He laughed, "A fair point. It takes mountains to break qunari skin."

"We should do this more often," I said, then added, "though without the shooting people part."

Cullen nodded, "I'd like, that'd be good. Yes." His arrow drifted to the side but still stuck into straw and not flesh.

Firing off my last I turned to him and smiled, "Maybe you'll even get good enough to try fifteen whole feet."

He laughed at that and fired of his last as well, cementing myself as the winner of our little duel. "Well," he said, "That's why I carry a sword and not a bow. Keep me up front and I'll protect you," his eyes darted to the side, scared to watch his confession land. I nodded my head and he ran his fingers across the blush now confined to the back of his neck.

My fingers drifted along the markings of my people while I stared into Cullen's eyes, "I'll be certain to pick a few off before they get to you. You know, to even the odds." It was probably my imagination but I swore Cullen leaned closer, sliding his bow behind him to...

"Inquisitor?"

I whipped around to find one of the soldiers nursing his eye with the second held a bow with a snapped string dragging across the ground. He shrugged and said, "We still ain't got the hang of it. One more time?"

Sighing, I took Cullen's functioning bow from him and said, "Duty calls."


	5. Moment of Goat

"Decent place to camp," Blackwall muttered to his beard. We'd already tossed down our packs when Blackwall gave his blessing. Smiling, I released the signal to base to send over a couple soldiers to assist and hold it should/when we wandered off.

"I don't know about that, Warden," Varric said, stepping away from his bulging pack to pace around the first decent bit of flat land we'd found in hours, "What about that spider nest Sparkles fell into?"

"I didn't fall," Dorian pouted. "The earth moved me towards it."

"I'm not really feeling it here," Varric continued, "I prefer my camp to be rift adjacent. Cuts down on time running head long into one." Blackwall glared at Varric. "What? I've got tiny legs."

"Whatever happened to the notion of sleeping indoors? With a roof, and walls, and the ability to clear the grime off our bodies," Dorian whined, then glanced over at the grey warden. "Some of our bodies." Blackwall grumbled at him, busying himself with the first tent poles so he didn't attack the mage.

Varric slapped Dorian on the back, both of them watching the man doing the work to establish the camp instead of helping, "Don't worry, Sparkles. This'll put hair on your chest."

"That would explain our man bear here. I am a bit curious, have you ever actually slept inside or would a roof cause you to combust?"

Blackwall slammed a tent pole against the ground. He made it two steps towards the mage before I sighed, "Could we please get this set up and then get to bickering?"

Dorian shrugged, "No skin off my nose." Blackwall growled at him, but that only encouraged the mage to laugh in response.

I ignored them all, fumbling through my own wad of possibly useful herbs, bits of rock that could be mineral samples, and...My fingers stumbled across a small node of wood, carved crudely in the form of a face. It was of all the options June, not the most helpful of gods to pray to unless one could only cross a bridge by repairing its guardians bow. But the thought was what mattered. Tucking my god safer into my pack, I glanced down at my boots.

"Creators, I'm going to be picking burrs off for weeks. Why did we go through that patch again?"

"Because you decreed, 'Oh look, a short cut,'" Dorian said.

Varric chuckled, "It did get us to the spiders faster."

"Too bad we were looking for demons," the damn mage and dwarf teamed up on me. But at least they weren't taking after Blackwall. After the spiders, the slide down a mountain into a river of mud, and only Dorian having a change of clothes he could wear, the man looked about ready to rip anyone's head off and jam it onto a pike. I didn't have time to wait for a mage replacement at Skyhold.

"Inquisitor," the pike man called, snagging my attention. He pointed to a quickly expanding shadow on the horizon. Shielding my eyes the horseman focused into view, a banner flapping behind him.

"It's one of ours," I said.

"How can you tell?" Varric asked standing on his tiptoes to see.

"Looking," Blackwall grumbled before returning to his duties. Pride went into his work of unfolding the canvas just flat enough it only took four tries before he could get the tent poles connected.

He'd already gotten one tent up by the time the rider thundered into camp and yanked back on the horses reins. Spittle splashed against Dorian's cheek. Wiping at it, he glared at the horse, "I'll remember you."

The rider didn't dismount, instead she twisted her horse to circle around me. "Inquisitor?"

"Yes?"

"I did not realize you were in the area. I spotted the signal and came for help," she said. Only a silver of her eyes, nose, and chin were visible underneath the helmet. All that kept bobbing back and forth as the horse stamped its feet. I feared I'd fall sea sick from watching her speak for too long.

Shaking my head to clear the nausea, I asked, "What is it?"

"There is a situation with a mage," she said.

I glanced back to my company, who abandoned the tents for weapons. "Venatori? Possession? Blood Magic?"

"No," she glanced back the way she came across the horizon, "the mage is not the danger. It is...perhaps it would be best if you saw yourself."

Sighing, I sheathed my daggers and slipped my bow across my horse's saddle horn. "Stay here," I said to the rest, "finish building up the campsite. I'll go see what's up with this mage." The men squirmed as if they felt they should go with but exhaustion kept them from actively attempting to disobey my order.

With no objections, I slid my still burred shoe into the foot strap, and hoisted myself up onto the horse. Muscles I'd written off as long past use fired alive, clinging tighter to my horse's flank. Picking up the reins, I gestured to the scout, "Lead on to this mage."

While we road away from a proper fire and meal to find an inexplicable mage, I heard Varric exclaim behind me, "Every time she climbs up on that thing I feel like we cease to exist."

Despite exhaustion wrenching my muscles, I couldn't help but appreciate the grandeur of the scenery. Whoever named it emerald graves wasn't far off; a verdant beauty growing overtop a mass grave of my people. Nugs skittered away from our horses' hooves churning up the wet ground. Even the mud in the emerald graves smelled different, sweet like clover and hay despite neither being around. Josephine whispered of a popular beauty treatment in Orlais involving ladies smothering their faces in the stuff. Knowing merchants, they were probably clearing their complexions with nug dung.

"How much further?" I called to my scout. She rounded her horse up an incline, taking us higher around the path. At least we skirted past the giants, a foe I was in no mood to tussle with. Admiring from afar was the best approach with a giant, preferably as far as Skyhold.

"There!" she shouted, pointing at the top of the edge of a cliff. A stream dribbled over the top, plopping into a shallow pool beside us. I squinted, only able to make out two human shaped shadows silhouetted by the passing sun, and one other much smaller and on all fours.

I noticed the third shadow had a rope tied around its neck and asked the gods, "Creators, what am I going to find?" Urging my horse into a cantor, I closed the distance quickly. My scout trailed behind, happy to let the Inquisitor take over for whatever madness lay before me.

My horse balked at the final climb up the rocky land. I slid off her and snatched up my bow. She whinnied for a treat, which...I patted my pockets fruitlessly. "Sorry," I said, but the scout leaned over, holding out something in her hand. She didn't dismount. Another great sign from the gods.

Using my hands to assist, I climbed up the massive rocks. A single voice spoke above me, asking for clemency with all the words available to him. My head poked up above the ground, but all I could see were boots shifting around a couple pairs of hooves. Placing my hand upon the flat ground above, I rose up to watch a mage in one of the ugliest hats I'd ever seen pacing around an exasperated man.

"Cullen?" I called. He broke away from the soppy man with one hand holding open a book and the other inserted in his own mouth.

The commander held out a hand for me, and together we tried to get me up to their level with as much dignity as possible. I slid my fingers across my bow to check for any damage then turned to him, "What are you doing here?"

He rolled his eyes skyward, "That is a very dull story. I was to assist with Fairbanks' recruits when I came across this mage."

The mage yanked his fingers out of his mouth and held them to me. I inspected the slobber covered appendage and then stared him in the eye, "I'm Finn."

"Just Finn?" I asked, glancing from him back to Cullen.

"Not just, no. My full name is Florian Phineas Horatio Aldebrant, Esquire."

"Floriant pine-ass..." I started, trying to follow his stream.

"Florian Phineas Horatio..."

Cullen stepped in, "He used to be one of the mages at Redcliffe."

"Shouldn't you be with the rest of the rebels at Skyhold?" I asked. The mage assignments were handled by whichever advisor needed one for a job, but it was rare for any to trek beyond the walls unaccompanied by a few Inquisition soldiers.

"Ah, about that. Well, funny story. Not so much funny as strange and unbelievable," Finn babbled, bouncing on his feet. He still kept the book open, the pages rustling in the wind.

Cullen glared at the mage, "He wasn't with the rebellion."

"Right, I wasn't with the rebellion," Finn copied.

I looked up and down the man still dressed in circle finery, most of the hems now shredded beyond mending. There was no cold wear save for the yellow and orange monstrosity atop his head. He was unlikely to survive more than a few days in the wild. "What are you doing here?"

"I was tracking a demon," Finn said.

"Just one?" I snickered.

"This is a tricky one."

My eyes narrowed and my muscles tightened, "Is this a demon you summoned?"

"What?!" Finn shouted, scampering back from my accusation, "No, no, I'd never do such a thing. I am a mage of the circle! We do not participate in blood magic."

"There are no circles..." I began, but Cullen ran his fingers along my arm.

"He was one of the dutiful ones," he said. But even through his assurances, I noticed he kept his fingers gripped upon his sword.

"So, you were hunting a demon and you need our help finding it?" I tried to get this conversation back on track. Somewhere back in the woods was a bed roll crying out to me.

"No, no, I've already found it," Finn continued. Cullen sighed. Leaning back on his heels, he glanced over the waterfall drop below us as if it seemed more tempting than facing whatever the mage wanted.

"Where is this demon?" I asked, regretting the words as they left my mouth.

Finn moved to the side, exposing the animal gnawing upon a tuft of grass. A bit of rope was loosely knotted around its throat. It glanced at me with a lazy eye and bleated, spraying masticated grass everywhere.

"A goat? You brought the commander and leader of the inquisition over here for a goat?"

Finn dashed forward, about to grab my coat, but paused at the threat in my eye and my fingers drifting towards a weapon, "This is no goat. Okay, it is a goat. Was a goat. It gets complicated. It's both goat and demon."

"Welcome to my headache," Cullen said, folding his arms. I sneered at the mage's babble, but the commander snickered at my response. Misery falling for company.

I watched the goat, or not goat, chewing its way to the mage's bag. It looked as innocuous as any other animal skipping along the forest trying to not get eaten by a bear. Exhaustion yanked me from amicable to irritable at the mage's delusions. Yanking his book away, I glared into the face far too lined to be playing these games.

"If you ever disturb the Inquisition like this again, I shall have you...placed on kitchen duty!"

"But," Finn pointed to the goat, "the demon."

My voice cracked an octave screaming, "That is a goat!"

A chuckle rumbled not from Cullen or even the scout still circling below on her horse, but from behind Finn. "Typical mortal believing it knows all about the world."

"Did that goat just talk?" I stuttered. Yanking my bow into place, I reached for an arrow while Cullen unsheathed his sword. But Finn approached closer, dropping down to a knee to meet the goat eye to eye. "What are you doing?" I hissed.

"Fascinating, it hadn't felt the need to speak to me since the binding ritual and..." The mage turned back, noticing the two of us were now armed. "It's all right. I placed down a binding circle." Finn pointed to the ring of hay and herbs ensconcing the goat.

The goat/demon chuckled again with a cold menace. Lightning crackled from its nose as hardened plates rolled across the body. A second and third set of horns sprouted off its head, growing another two feet while the eyes turned blood red. Still cackling, the goat shook its body, increasing its size with each twist.

I grabbed onto the mage, hauling him away from the growing demon. He didn't fight me, but kept staring at the ground as if trying to solve a puzzle.

"Oh dear," Finn said, "it seems to have eaten through the circle."

"It's free?" I shouted at him. By now the goat was already five feet tall while still on four legs and getting bigger. Sparks sprang from its hooves every time it smacked into the ground.

Finn bobbed his head, "I fear so. Pride demons are complicated things."

My eyes met Cullen's and he nodded. The commander raised his shield, pulling the attention of the goat. I fired an arrow lancing across the armor growing across the demon's body. Two more barely nicked it, only drawing the beast's growing ire and revelry in the chase. The goat bleated, lightning flaring out of its mouth and smacking into Cullen's shield. Without waiting for the demon to recharge, Cullen reached around his shield and jammed his sword for the demon's head. It was a brutal blow, but the goat rolled its head, the horns knocking it aside.

Tossing my bow aside, I unsheathed my daggers. "Scout, find the others! Bring them back as quick as possible!" I heard a "Yes, Ser" below me and the sound of hooves disappearing into the distance.

Cullen drew the brunt of the demon's attention, hooves smashing into his shield. But this was no longer a little goat. The creature had the force of a ton and four feet long legs behind it, each kick denting the shield. Jumping forward, I slashed for the goat's flank, but the demon turned. My left arm missed, but the right slid, drawing a small line of blood down its side. It reprieved Cullen from the onslaught so he could regroup, hacking away at the creature's head.

Lightning nipped at my side as I rolled away, my footing slipping beneath. The ground smashing into me was preferable to the massive goat kicking in my bones. I twisted further away, dodging the demon goat's maniac hops. Rising to a knee, I cried, "Mage, throw a spell!"

"What should I do? I don't do this fighting stuff unless under pressure," Finn shouted.

"A demon infested goat isn't pressure?" I muttered to myself. Bouncing back up from the crouch, I watched the demon zap Cullen across the face. He reared from the sting, pawing at his face. "Try magic!" I shouted at Finn. Running at full force towards the goat, I screamed. The demon raised a leg, ready for me, but I dropped down, sliding under its belly and dragging my daggers to gut it. But the damn things could only draw a wound perhaps an inch deep.

Screaming, lightning strikes lanced from its mouth across the forest. Scorch marks erupted in the grass and trees, blackening the ground. Thank the creators this place was so wet or we'd have a demon and a forest fire to contend with.

The demon twisted around, trying to smash me to pieces, but Cullen kept it distracted by smacking his shield into its face. I kept digging my daggers in, only able to get the blade an inch or two at best, which the goat shrugged off with more stomping.

"By the maker, cast something!" Cullen shouted. His exasperation twisted to a curdling scream as the goat hurtled through his shield wall and bit down on his arm.

"Ghilan'nain's horns!" I cursed, rolling out from under the goat. It refused to let go of its prize, even as Cullen bashed it on the face with the hilt of his sword. Out of ideas, I jumped as high I could, sticking my dagger into the goat's hindquarters. Using them, I scaled the goat, twisting with each dig. Ichor dribbled from the wounds, dissolving the grass below into foam.

Sliding onto the demon's back, I raised my arm high and drove a dagger deep into its spine. The goat shrieked, releasing its grip on Cullen. Ichor poured from the spine, slicking up my meager hold. Now beyond angry, the demon bucked, its head snapping around to bite me. It spun around in a circle, blood gushing from the gaping wound and across my dagger, my only hold upon the beast.

Cullen slung his shield over his damaged arm and swung again at the goat's face, smacking into his nose. But the goat was too distracted by me to notice. "I'm losing my grip!" I shouted as my fingers gave out. The demon twisted hard, sending me careening through the air. Ground shattered into my side, kicking some of the air from my lungs. I kept rolling, finishing off the rest of it.

"Inquisitor!" Cullen shouted, but I was in no state to respond.

Gasping to refill my lungs, I squeaked out a, "Mage?"

Either Finn heard or caught on that this was going poorly for us, "I've got a spell that should work, I only need a moment."

"Is that all?" Cullen mocked. Demon ichor drenched my eyes, which I tried to wipe away with my still bloodied hand. Rising up to a knee, I watched the commander perform the strangest move I'd seen. He called to the demon, causing the shaggy head to whip around to face him, then began to run a circle around it, never swinging, never trying to bash it in with his shield. Just running in an eternal loop, and the demon followed. Its hooves shattered the ground with each twist, lightning crackling up the black-blood legs. But it was working. The demon couldn't reach him as it tried to reorient the four legged body. Too bad Cullen couldn't keep this up forever.

"Now, Finn!" I shouted. Cullen's boot slipped in the blood pooling across the ground, his arms rolling to keep him upright. The goat nipped for it, almost snagging him again.

"Okay, okay, okay," Finn said. His head snapped up from his book. Parting his fingers like conducting a symphony, he waved at the goat. Metal bit the air as the mage's magic swirled around the still spinning beast.

"You might want to get back," Finn called. His eyes faded over with a crackling of red and white fog now permeating his body.

Cullen didn't need to be told twice. Taking one more twist around the goat, he broke free, running towards me. I snagged his arm, pulling him down before his momentum took him further down the hill. He folded to the ground, his breathing labored from the battle.

"Mage!" I cried.

"It is done," Finn said, snapping his book closed.

Cullen and I twisted to the goat standing stock watching us curious mortals. It snorted, sending more lightning out of its nose, but there was uncertainty behind the glowing eyes. It didn't know what to make of this. A bulge shifted below the goat's flank, then another in its leg. Suddenly, the goat grew in size faster than before. No longer five feet tall, it now towered above Cullen. An unnatural smile curled up the goat lips, a scene certain to visit me for a few weeks in my nightmares.

"What did you do?" I shouted to the mage again flipping through his book.

"I...I used an destruction spell. It should have rendered the beast inactive," Finn zipped back and forth through the same page, glancing up at the still increasing goat. "Maya the fourth even endorsed this one."

Now beyond seven feet tall, the demon chuckled. "The mage who imprisoned me, how could I forget you?" It spun around, eyeing up the mortal quickly becoming bite sized. "I shall enjoy this."

"Oh, this isn't right," Finn cried, snapping the book shut and stepping back, "I don't want to die!" The goat only chuckled more, taking a slow elaborate step towards Finn.

I grabbed onto Cullen's hand, hauling him up. Together we raced towards the goat, ready to impale it as best we could, when the demon paused. It took another step, then leaned back.

Glancing towards Finn, I shouted, "What's it-?"

Innards exploded out of the demon, guts and blood splattering into trees, grass, and across the three of us. Something in the mage's spell must have finally caught as the demon blew apart, decorating everything within a radius with its innards. Small bubbles of magic popping across each organ left dangling in the branches. Black ichor coated the once verdant landscape, foam hissing where it chewed through foliage.

Finn nodded his head, a rictus of a smile yanking back his lips. He continued to bob and weave as the blood drained from his face and the mage swooned, his falling head slapping into the pile of gigantic goat intestines. Cullen grumbled, but pushed the mage over so he didn't drown in demon blood. It was enough to revive Finn. He screamed about going blind before the commander wiped at his eyes.

Glancing once more to make certain the demon goat wasn't about to reassemble, I sheathed my daggers and hunted through the gore for my bow. "Just for my own sake, mage, how did a pride demon wind up in a goat?" I asked, eyeing up Finn.

"I am curious as well," Cullen said. He picked up the mage's hand, hauling him up but didn't release his hold. The templar armor might be gone, but the tenets still glimmered.

Finn swallowed his bottom lip a few times, "I was traveling with a caravan when a green wiggly bit in the sky split open."

"A rift," I said. Explained the pride demon at least, less so the goat.

"Is that what it is?" Finn asked.

"Did you not notice the massive breach in the sky?" Cullen asked, pointing upward. Finn followed along and twisted his head in surprise. I caught Cullen's exasperated eye and couldn't bury a laugh. Only a mage.

"So that explains the increase in thaumatic activity," Finn said. He reached inside his robe and pulled out a green leather book and a quill. Without any proper ink, he dipped it in the demon's ichor and began to write. "Do you know how long this 'breach,' as you so call it, has occurred?"

"Creators preserve me," I stepped back so I wouldn't throttle the man.

Cullen increased his pressure on the mage, "How did a demon wind up in a goat?"

"Oh, that. Well, the pride demon fell out of your breach thing and attacked the caravan. I was the only mage in the area and couldn't possibly defeat it on my own."

"Obviously," Cullen agreed, despite the fact it was Finn who finished the monster.

"So I thought to bind the demon to keep it contained. Without a supply of lyrium it had to be into a living being because of...mage reasons that aren't worth going into, and someone happened to bring a goat along on our journey. I'd only ever heard the spell in theory and had no idea it could actually work. This'll make for a fascinating paper."

Cullen glanced around the abandoned forest, trees pressing too close to allow wagons through, "Where is the caravan?"

"Probably hundreds of miles away by now. After I cast my spell, they spooked and ran. Quite pointless really, I had it all under control."

The commander blinked slowly at the mage, then turned back to me. His face begged for someone to explain this because the facts refused to add up. Stepping towards Finn, I confirmed what we both suspected, "You're saying after you bound the demon into the goat you then brought it with you for days?"

Finn nodded, "I asked around for someone to finish it off, but everyone either slammed the door in my face or looked at me strange. It was a lucky thing you happened along Inquisitor. You remind me of a warden I once traveled with and a dalish elf too. Maker was that more trouble than it was worth. Do you know a fellow elf named I think it was Ariana?"

Cullen's fingers slackened from around Finn's wrist. He twisted his head, trying to lodge the mage's idiotic truth out of his ears, "Andraste's breath." It was the closest I ever heard of him cursing. Released from his grip, Finn approached the goat carcass, prodding it with a stick to see if anything worthy of research rested inside.

I watched him for a moment while Cullen walked past to land ass first onto the grass. "You'll be fine," I said to Finn, ignoring his doddering comments as I joined the commander.

"At least you picked the least bloody spot." I slid down beside him, my calf muscles spasming from the sudden lack of exertion. "How's the arm?"

He held out the one the goat demon bit into. His gauntlet was warped, jagged sections ripped back or pinched in. "I'll need someone to cut the armor off me, but I don't think the demon got to my skin."

Smiling, I twisted my head to Finn, "We got a mage that could probably heal you up."

Terror crossed his weary eyes, "He'd be more likely to bind me to a rabbit." The laughter of exhaustion burst from me, echoed by Cullen but with less force.

"Think he'll do requests?" I said, still watching Finn who was now squatting above the ground and trying to use his legs as a table. "If my body ever becomes unrecoverable, have him bind me into something new."

"I fear it does not work that way," Commander Killjoy said, killing the conversation. A southern breeze weaved through the grass. Its kiss wiped away the sweat rolling across my arms and also dried the demon blood sticking to every part of my body. To our left, the sun glimmered just a peck above the horizon. It wouldn't be long before night fell upon this small grotto, leaving us exhausted and blind. Not an appetizing prospect, but moving seemed as impossible as defeating a dragon.

"I would pick a bear," Cullen said, throwing off my thoughts. "If I had to choose an animal," he continued at my look. "What would you do?"

"Hm..." I tapped my finger against my chin, scratching off the caked on blood, "I believe I'd go with a nug."

He laughed at my earnest tone, then paused. "A nug? Why a nug?"

Shrugging, I said, "I like nugs. They squeak adorably, have ridiculous ears, and drive Vivienne mad. What'd you think I'd pick?"

"Something majestic like a...halla," he turned away with the last word, afraid to say something offensive.

But I only smiled and ran my fingers along his non-damaged hand, "If you'd spent any time around a halla you'd know why I go nug. Those things stink, especially when they're in heat."

It was probably my imagination but I swore a blush bloomed beneath the black ichor across his cheeks. He twisted his body to face me and traced the side of his finger along my cheek. "You're beautiful."

Laughter gurgled in my throat from a mix of embarrassment, uncertainty, and joy. I raced to cover my confusing outburst, "I bet you say that to all the girls covered in demon goat's blood."

Sliding his hand behind my jaw, he leaned his face closer to mine. I followed him, walking down this new and uncertain path but savoring the moment. Cullen's brows rose as he paused millimeters from my face. Taking the initiative this time, I twisted my head and smashed my lips close to his. He dipped to the right, lining it up for a proper kiss. His mouth parted, the tongue exploring new terrain. Lust overcame the metallic taste of demon blood slipping into our connected mouths, but it wasn't wise to eat too much of the stuff.

Breaking away, Cullen's smile could launch singing bluebirds into the air. He ran a finger across my filthy hair, trying to tuck it into place. "I will only tell one demon blood coated girl that she's beautiful."

"Why, Commander," I purred, trying to stampede over the awe shucks guffaw digging out of my throat. "You say the nicest things." Sliding my hand along his shoulder, I leaned closer for another kiss.

"Where is this monstrous demon?!" Blackwall's heroic grumble echoed below us. Cullen's eyes widened and he jumped up, scrabbling away from me. As subtle as his performance was, the blush blanketing his pale cheeks gave him away.

I wiped my hands along the rare bit of clean grass and rose up. Below, the three goofs sat upon horses I couldn't remember them having. "I'm afraid you missed it."

"What?" Dorian asked. He sat precariously upon his steed as if he didn't want any part of himself to touch it. "And after that mess it took to procure these things to get us here in time."

"Sorry," I shrugged, "giant goat demon and you guys were too late to see it. Even grew to like seven feet tall in the end before exploding."

"Wait, wait," Varric called, "I've got to write this down." He unearthed a book from inside his coat, "Start at the beginning."

Sighing, I glanced towards Cullen who still found a tree not in my direction fascinating. "How about I tell you back at camp?" I shouted down. "Would you care to join us, Commander?"

"We hadn't finished setting it up," Blackwall added.

"It has all the amenities of sticks and canvas on the rocky ground," I smiled, "impossible to pass up."

He broke away from the embarrassment tree and shook his head. But a whisper of a smile belied his discomfort at our complicated liaison, "No, I think I'll continue on to Fairbanks, get this arm looked at, and find someplace to put Finn."

"Huh?" the mage looked up, broken away from his notes. "Oh good, good. Will it be indoors?"

"I hope so," Cullen said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Did someone say indoors?" Dorian asked, "May I go with them?"

"No," I shouted down. "We have our own demons to kill, remember."

He groaned, "This is why no one likes you, you know."

Chuckling, I caught Cullen's eye and nodded, "Oh, I know."


	6. Moment of Fear

Winds whipped debris around the cracked base where a demon nearly broke through to destroy the world. Thunder rumbled the night sky as people, my people, swarmed amongst the now surrendered Grey Warden forces. Most were already quarantined and contained as far from ours as they could get. Forgiveness could only stretch so far and tension still bit in the air.

The others, the ones who walked with me where no one dared tread, moved on. Cole still bore the worst of it, a shake in his paper hands as he whispered to himself, but it was Bull of all people who kept him distracted. It was also the first time I ever found Vivienne speechless, her face mottled with mud from the fade and terror haunting her eyes. She stood beside me for a time, silent as the grave, marking where we jumped free of the demons and I zipped it shut. But now I stood alone. My eyes stung from focusing intently on the empty air, watching to make certain it worked, and wishing it had all been just a nightmare.

"Inquisitor," a hand dropped onto my shoulder and I turned away from my vigil. A boy stood behind me, his flaxen hair matted with demon blood. He looked so young, specks of fuzz pocked above his lip unable to meet in the middle. I tipped my head, waiting for a response, but his eyes travailed the massive pride demon corpse still strewn in pieces across the ground.

"Have you ever seen one before?" I asked the boy. His massive brown eyes widened at my speaking to him. Slowly, he twisted his head in the negative.

"Pray you never do again," I said, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, you needed something from me?"

"Yes, the commander is looking for you. He said it was important stuff."

I bowed my head and twisted back to the still silent veil. Blessed creators, I wish my brother were here. Even if all of his talk about feeling the veil's power was just him showing off in front of the female hunters it'd still make me feel better. A twinge shuddered off my palm and I released my fingers to find the anchor flaring awake. Closing my fist, I turned to the boy, "Right, where is he?"

Cullen was not that difficult to find. In the time we were trapped in the fade, the commander got most of the wounded marked and tended to. The Wardens not gravely injured and bundled off the battlefield huddled against the wall, blankness in their eyes. Whether it was from losing that calling or from watching their leader nearly sacrifice everyone to a demon was hard to say.

Remnants of our siege weapons lay mixed atop the Wardens, as if everyone dropped what they carried and ran. I spotted the commander walking between two of his lieutenants. One was a tight lipped Tal Vashoth who Cullen had to stand on his tiptoes to meet the eye of. But she followed orders to the letter, to the point she seemed more qunari than our ben-hassrath qunari. "What's the word?" He paced to peer over the wall, then back to crouch over a soldier laying upon the ground with a sack wadded over her eye.

"Negative, Ser," Vitan said. She held her hands behind her back, as still as a sullen statue.

"Nothing?" Cullen exasperated, throwing an exhausted hand up. "What about..."

"We have to wait for reinforcements," she interrupted. But Cullen was used to it, and sneered at the promised backup and not his lieutenant.

"Commander," I called, stepping closer. "You asked for me?"

He nodded his head at Vitan, dismissing her. She saluted and turned, commanding two soldiers to assist with her orders. But I swore I caught a micro-smirk from her aimed my way as Cullen fell beside me.

"What's the situation?" I began.

"Adamant is ours, for now. I'm not sure for how long," Cullen said.

"Are Wardens trying to regroup?" I asked, the jolt of battle waking me up.

"No, but this place is falling apart. Our sappers did a number on the east wall. We should pay them well. And our people poked around in the lower sections and discovered a secret entrance. Which would have been useful to know before we began this siege."

He reached a hand out and directed me down a staircase. A massive boulder shattered the wall and collapsed half the stairs. I slid my fingers around it as I followed his suggestion downward. "What are the casualties?" I asked behind myself.

Waiting until we got safely to the bottom, he answered, "Could be worse."

"How bad?"

"A few dead, more injured. We've got wardens to deal with as well." He wiped a hand across his face, "There won't be any definite numbers until morning. Make it through the night..."

"And you stand a fighting chance," I finished. After Haven we all knew that one well.

Cullen's grim face twisted to the side. "There's also the food issue."

"Food issue?" I twisted down the final staircase and walked into the courtyard where this all began. A fire still burned in the sand begun before we ever breached the wall. Occasionally, a soldier would throw more sand upon it, but the flames didn't dampen. Cullen glanced to it and sighed at another problem to solve.

He gestured to the door where the battering ram once stood. "Seems the wardens didn't expect to need much what with a demon army presence and something about the calling taint I don't know. So we're short all around. I'm hoping we can get enough of our forces on their feet and back to Skyhold before it's an issue."

I nodded, out of ideas. I'd never marched an army before, never weighed the tables on what was needed to keep bellies of soldiers full. Never tested how far a soldier could march on a broken leg to keep three others from starving. And they put it all on me, the knife-ear that stumbled into this on accident. Twisting out of the battering ram hole, I stepped out of Adamant fortress to find a city of tents sprung up from the wasteland sands. Fires blazed in between the landmarks, each a different color to mark what service they provided in the camp. Blue swarmed with people rushing to heal the wounded and the wounded staggering for healing. Another tongue of thunder rolled above our heads. We both looked up at the black sky, thick with clouds.

"That would just add to this mess," Cullen muttered. He turned away from another problem to catch my eye and bowed his head, "There's a tent set up this way. We can discuss things there away from panicking eyes."

I tipped my head and trailed behind. Soldiers dashed about the sands raising tents and securing our temporary city built upon the sand. One shoved me aside so he could catch a falling pole when he turned and blanched. I smiled and said, "It's all right. We have to pull our weight tonight. You're doing a good job."

"Thh...thank you?" he stuttered before yanking up his hammer and running away.

Cullen paused before a tent the same size as the others, but someone took the time to stick a massive banner with the Inquisition eye outside it. Red flames burned from the brazier beside the entrance, hissing and popping with the herbs tossed inside. He gestured towards it and picked up the flap of the door. I nodded my head, and dipped below his hand. A table was prepared, a small map of the area already scuffed up with dagger marks. Beside it flickered a lone oil lamp. We had access to magic fire, but after the night and the tear in the veil, no one wanted to use it.

I turned around and looked up at the commander as he lowered the tent flap to join me. "Wood is a priority." I began, "Too many demon bodies can attract -"

He wrapped his arms around my body pulling me tight to his chest. At first I froze, surprise slacking my muscles, but slowly I reached around him. We stood entangled for a minute, breathing each other in and not saying a word.

"Maker," Cullen whispered. He buried his face into the top of my head, his breath parting the hair, "I thought, when the dragon and you fell...into the fade." His arms tightened around me and I squeezed back in return, clinging to something real. But it was all real in the fade, too. That was the problem. For the second time I walked there and came out alive. His grip slackened and he looked down into my eyes, "Are you okay?"

I nodded, and with a flat voice said, "I'm fine."

Cullen ran the back of his hand along my cheek. "I'm not asking the Inquisitor, I'm asking you."

A sob broke. Tears burrowed deep in my heart burst free. He wiped at them with his thumb. "It was horrific. The fade and a demon who I...I can't -"

Wrapping me back into a hug his breath shuddered, "It's all right, you don't have to tell me."

 _The nightmare's voice cracks above the others. In the distance, the Divine's spirit or demon floats, her eyes watching me as the fear taunts me. "We all know what happens to little knife-ears who grow uppity and forget their place. Snip snip snip. They make for quite a pretty necklace, don't they? When you fail, Corypheus' army will take the ears off every member of your clan, your people, then chain them all back to slavery. The last of the free people will no longer be."_

"It's all a mistake," I whispered, digging deeper into him. "I'm not Andraste's chosen. I'm an accident." I snorted at the absurdity. Everyone wanted me to be divine, maker sent, needed it to be a miracle and it was just a case of ill conceived timing. If I'd been lost down the wrong corridor or opened a different door...

Cullen ran his hand through my hair, "I don't believe that."

I leaned away from him and spoke plainly, "It wasn't Andraste who sent me through the fade, it was the Divine."

"That doesn't mean anything."

Shaking my head, I broke away from him, "I'm not what you think I am. What they all think I am. I'm a fraud."

Anger swirled through Cullen's eyes, a dangerous one that more than a few wardens saw this night. "You are no such thing."

"They joined up because I was Andraste's Herald. They followed me because of it. Why would anyone follow an elf with some ancient magic embedded in her hand? An elf that can crack open the fade?"

"Every person out there followed you here to this point because of who you are. There are people who don't believe in Andraste that would still follow you to the ends of the world if you asked. The things you've done against the insurmountable..." Cullen waved his arm out towards the army tents, "You just saved them from a nightmare demon army and a high dragon."

 _The others saw spiders, but I didn't. I wish I did. Shemlan slavers reached for me, tried to bind my wrists and feet. And when that didn't work, when that only drove me to rage, the demon found something else to torment me with. As the combat faded, and the others slackened their stances, all I saw across the ground was my brother's lifeless body. I killed him, because I took his place._

Energy burst from my hand, flaring around the tent. Cullen stepped back in surprise. Tears rolled down my cheeks, sizzling as they plopped into the anchor. I sank to my knees unable to take my eyes off the magic I never wanted, the gift that I stole. A power so incredible it could rip open the veil. Mages and the terrors they inflicted were nothing compared to what that mark on my hand could do. Cullen dropped in front of me and curled his fingers below mine.

"How can anyone want me," I said, watching my hand, "knowing the truth?" I broke from the greens of the fade to watch enlightenment dawn upon his face. He scooted closer to me and reached an arm around my shoulder.

"I believe in Andraste and the Maker," he said. "I believed that she sent you to help save us in our darkest hour." Cullen ran his fingers across my forehead, pulling my eyes into his, "And I still do."

My fist closed, cutting off the anchor, and I fell into him. He caught me, both of us leaning onto the floor as we clung tighter to each other. "We're in this together, all of us. Cassandra, and Varric, and Leliana," he said.

"And Sera," I said, smirking from his grumble.

"For good or ill, yes, even Sera."

 _"Andraste's Herald, that's what they call you," my brother's corpse rose from the ground, taunting me. "Pathetic. They'll turn on you the second you're no longer useful to them, just as they turned on their own prophet. Shems can't be trusted, you told me that. But I didn't listen, and look at me. Dead because of them. You opened the fade, you could walk into the black city just like Corypheus. What do you think they'll do to one of our kind with that much power? Let you walk after you save them? Or has your infatuation clouded your judgment? Seduce all the shems you want, sister; you cannot change their nature."_

My fingers trailed across Cullen's cheek, rubbing against that foreign scruff he never seemed to tame. His tormented eyes met mine, the same pain shrouding them as when he found me in the snows of Skyhold. He could have flexed the might of the Inquisition's muscle upon me, brought me to heel, but he didn't. He gave me a chance.

"Vhenan," I murmured, stroking his jaw.

"I, uh, don't know what that means," he stammered.

Smiling, I cupped my fingers behind his head and pulled him closer. "My heart," I whispered before falling into a kiss. The demon didn't lie, but twisted the truth, keeping me from seeing the possibilities. As long as Corypheus breathed, Thedas needed me and the Inquisition. And after...what was to come of me, of this, would be broached then.

Leaning back, I wiped at my cheeks still stained in tears and nodded, "All right, we still need to solve the food problem and find wood to build pyres."

Cullen smiled as his cloak of duty slipped in place, laying out his ideas, but he kept a tight hold on my hand while we planned our next move, never letting go.


	7. Moment of Fluff

Something brushed over my face, coaxing open my eye sticky with sleep. Black feathers fluttered through the air jolting me awake. My fingers reached for a weapon that wasn't there as the bird landed upon a table beside the bed.

Table. Bed. Furs. This wasn't a campsite. The pounding in my heart slowed while the bird pivoted its head around, curiously taking in the surroundings. It wasn't one of Leliana's ravens; this bird was much smaller with black and green feathers molting across the floor. Flocks of them flitted in and out of the stones of Skyhold, thieving every bit of straw and shiny piece they could for nests. A bit like Cole, but without the hat.

The bed creaked from my rolling over to face the bird ruffling itself next to a half burned candle. Inching a finger near, its clockwork head snapped to me. The beak flared open and a monstrous noise like a strangulated goose erupted from its vibrating throat. Rather than rear back in terror, I glared at it, holding my hand out unwilling to back down to a two ounce sparrow. Unimpressed by my response, the bird took wing, littering the last of its molting feathers. Circling above my head, it flew out the hole still in the roof. Early dawn broke through the hole, as well as the sky vermin, and a massive sapling growing off the walls. Beside me slumbered the reason nature offered up a wakeup call.

Sliding deeper under the fur, my body molded around his, flesh to flesh. Lightly, my fingers trailed the muscles knotted across his shoulders, for once relaxed. I pressed my lips against the back of his neck and he stirred. His hand reached up to cup mine that was exploring his chest for any hidden quests.

"I didn't mean to wake you," I whispered.

Cullen flipped over so those honey eyes faced me. A tender smile greeted me as he ran a finger down my cheek. "You didn't. I was already awake."

"Oh?" My fingers slipped down his chest, tenderly stroking a knotted patch of pale skin. Mage fire was all he said to explain it. But the never ending war of mage versus templar, magic and demons, was inconsequential here. With his pinkie, he began to trace along my vallaslin, drawing upon my forehead the dips and swirls of the blood tattoo. "I've been awake for some time," he said, his lower lip pouting as he concentrated on my pattern.

"And you didn't get up?"

"Rise and dress while you still sleep? That seems rude," he said nonchalantly, but I scoffed at the jibe. He was never going to let me live that one down.

"I had an early meeting to keep with Josephine. I didn't anticipate spending the night intensely debriefing the commander. Besides, I assumed you knew how to get out of your own bed without assistance."

Cullen sighed, his fingers breaking from my marks to slide down my body and curl around my hip. Leaning deeper into him, I felt a familiar stir rising to attention as my lips sought out his. Fluttering across his skin still slick with night sweat, my fingers marked the highlights of his terrain. A bicep here. An ab there. I paused just above the best part and ruffled through his pubic hair.

Rearing back in false surprise he cried, "Inquisitor!"

I groaned, "None of that here, unless you want me to start ordering you around, commander?"

"You are a dangerous temptation," he sighed, placing his forehead upon mine.

"I'm not hearing a no," I countered.

Cullen chortled, and in a surprise move, pushed into my hip rolling me onto my back. I surrendered, moving with his body until he straddled me, triumph lifting that scar upon his lip. A curious look took over and he trailed a finger from my cheek down my throat, and circled around the swell of my breast.

There was such concentration upon his brow, I had to ask, "Yes?"

"It is a, well, um, I used to wonder if your tattoos were..."

I nodded, having heard the same question from far less savory lips. "If they went all the way down?" I finished for him.

A bright blush lit up his cheeks, "If that's wrong to ask, I was just thinking that you're so...and they're a part of you...I'm sorry."

Inching up, I patted his cheek, the blush warm beneath my fingers, "It is offensive to my people, but I'll allow it because you're damn fine naked." Cullen smiled, picked my hand up in his own, and leaned down towards me for a kiss.

Inches from me he twisted his head to the side. "Why are there feathers on the bed?" To demonstrate his question, he drew one of the black ones across my vision.

"Because a certain commander of the Inquisition can't be arsed to fix a hole in his own roof."

Cullen rolled the feather pinched in his fingers, hypnotized by the black iridescence. "It is not a major issue."

"Not until a bird flies in and shits all over you while you're sleeping," I said. He shrugged, glancing towards one of the holes. The massive one with a tree prodding through it. I suspected a bird's nest roosted in the second based upon the peeping every morning.

"You know I have a perfectly sound roof over top my own massive room with a warm bed."

He didn't look up from the feather, "I am aware." A but hung unsaid in the air.

Rather than get an answer, I twisted my head towards the hole and asked, "What do you do when it rains?" I'd wondered since I first spotted the hole after we moved into Skyhold.

"I put out a basin, which I can use to wash up in the morning."

"Cullen..."

"There are greater concerns than the state of the roof over my head." He placed the feather upon the nightstand already covered in the things and slid his body off mine. Cold seeped in to rattle my flesh as he moved away. I reached out, snagging his fingers before he fully escaped. Eyes, broken by monsters still prowling at the edges of his mind, twisted back to me. Using his own body as leverage, I pulled myself up and - knotting his curly hair around my fingers - I brought his forehead to mine.

Cullen sighed, "In truth, I didn't have much reason to use my bed until recent." A smile curled up that scarred lip, but I knew it was forced. Patting his cheek, I pulled him closer.

"Maybe you should make up for lost time." His body waffled until I pulled out my secret weapon and waggled my eyebrows thrice. Laughing, Cullen crumpled into me, pushing my body down with his deeper into the straw mattress. His hand circled around my breast while mine drifted down his lower back to cup his ass.

Hinges rattled below, the door squeaking as a voice called out, "Commander?"

"Shit," I cursed, flopping my head back. I recognized the voice of Cullen's early riser. She was a great solider, always quick with the reports, giving 110% for the cause, and made a decent shield wall. But at the moment I wished the dwarf dead with every fiber of my being.

He mouthed a silent apology to me, then raised his voice, "I'll be down in a moment!"

"I can wait, Ser," she shouted back.

Welp, so much for that. Cullen rose from me, yanking up his piles of discarded armor and slotting it on as quickly as possible. Still, despite losing the interactive portion, I at least enjoyed watching the show. In his haste, he knotted the cape portion upon an arm and spun around trying to catch it. Rising from the bed, I grabbed him and fixed it, unfurling the fabric so it dangled properly. Or at least how he wore it. I swore off shemlan fashion after the orlesian ball. Proper and common sense didn't seem to come in their wheelhouse.

He hugged me one last time, the cold metal biting into my naked flesh, then slid down the ladder. "What is it?" his voice ordered, denying anything untoward like a nude inquisitor exited just above their heads.

Soldier babble and reports I'd hear the gist of later hovered below - all very important things I'd bother to care about in the war room. Rolling away from the warmth of the bed, I stepped cautiously upon the floorboards. At least my dalish hunting tactics kept my feet light and the hastily nailed up floor from creaking or cracking in half. My own clothes were shed in three piles. I prodded the first for the under armor I wore around Skyhold. It first began out of exhaustion as the wounds from a fall through a mountain needed breathing room outside of armor, but after no one batted an eye, I took to wearing the leather pajamas at all times. It went from comfort to curiosity if anyone would call me on it, to stubbornness, to routine. It was all I wore about the hold now.

Except when I first returned.

After buttoning up the tunic, (and checking the massive rows of buttons) I turned to the second pile where a set of chainmail glistened in the early light. I'd only meant to tell Cullen that we were back, saved the town, brought back some dawnstone samples, and Solas didn't bring any baby spirits to nurse back to health. But the welcome home quickly grew more welcoming and now I faced a pile of my armor sitting in the commander's quarters.

Shrugging, I picked up the chainmail and slipped it over my head, then belted the green tunic over top that. Carrying it seemed more suspect than wearing it around. Silence reigned below; the soldier must have moved on. Probably was sent to give Josephine the report so I could look over it.

I patted down my stomach, checking the hastily looped belt, and glanced back at the ransacked bed still covered in feathers. Only a hundred feet away was my massive bed with a proper roof over top and enough floor space for my clan to camp out should the need arise. Yet we kept winding up back here. Next time I'm suggesting the commander needs to make an emergency meeting with the Inquisitor in her quarters.

Hooking onto the ladder, I climbed down properly, my bare feet slipping down the rungs. It was a true battle of wits Josephine employed to get me into shoes for the ball. How humans can stand those things I'll never understand. Why not slip leather mittens over your hands while you're at it?

Midway down the ladder, Cullen's voice started up, "Right, if we move the forces further north along the coastline..."

"There are reports of giant spiders," the dwarf piped up. I froze, clinging tightly to the ladder. Peering down my feet, I tried to spy either of them, but all I could make out was the floor and hints of a shadow. Continuing my path seemed the only course now. With a breath silenced in my lungs, I worked quickly but silently down.

"Bring a sword," Cullen said, brushing off the giant spider report.

"And if they're poisonous?"

"Bring more swords," he added, getting a chuckle from her. Then he looked up and caught my eye. Panic gripped his face but the dwarf didn't notice, she was still peering over the map laid out across the desk, prodding at a pick.

I held a finger up to my mouth and touched the floor with a foot. Cullen nodded his head and smiled. He coughed to cover up the jangle of my mail and pointed to some other section of the map, "What about the state of our forces there?"

"In Antiva?" she asked.

Creeping towards the door, I pressed into the latch, willing it to be silent for once. Perhaps it was the creators or even Andraste for once looking out, but it softly lifted - the door didn't even whine from the pressure.

"Ah, yes, well, Antiva could offer up many different options for...things for the Inquisition," Cullen stumbled to cover for me.

Standing in the doorway, I caught his blushing eye and mouthed "love you." He smiled and added back, "vhenan."

Stepping into the sunlight, my body froze as the soft voice of the soldier called out. "Good morning, Inquisitor."

My head dropped as I mumbled, "Morning." Slamming the door shut harder than I needed to, I perambulated in the direction of my room to change out of my incriminating armor. Running would be undignified for the Inquisitor and also draw far too much attention. Still, with each person I passed every bob of the head and hearty greeting came with a secret smile at the end. Somehow I kept a burning blush off my cheeks, but could only manage a curt, "Morning" to everyone I saw.

Taking the scenic route deposited me in front of the tavern. A few of the mages sat outside it, digging into the dirt with a staff, when the door blew open and an elf ran right through them. She didn't pause even as her feet skidded through the inscribing; only turned back to sneer at the magic sloshed through the mud.

"Sera?" I foolishly called to her.

She whipped around and nodded her head, then turned to glare at the mages back to their scribing. A demonic grin filled her face as she turned towards me. "Whatcha waitin' for? Ain't gonna have much left if we don't hurry."

"What are you talking about? What's left?"

Snorting, she jumped ahead of me, jogging in place towards the main hall, "Waffles, duh."

"I'm certain the chef will have more food for breakfast." Skyhold's stores were hardly waning after the generous donations from the Imperial Army.

Sera snorted, "Psh, pancakes ain't worth running for."

"But waffles are?" I stumbled, trying to both literally and metaphorically keep up with her.

She tossed her head, unable to understand my inability to appreciate proper breakfast foods. "You ain't coming from your fancy pants room, then? Been prodding around in the armory?"

"Excuse me?" Dwarven merchants rolled a small cart past me, the pots jangling up the incline. Sera glared at it for daring to usurp her waffle position, but she paused to turn around and elaborate on her innuendo.

"Getting in some morning exercises? Saluting the general? Donning the velvet hat? Forget where I heard that one. Not important. What? Should I be more elfy elf? Were you capturing some elven glory holes?"

"Sera," I groaned. There were a dozen ways I could ask her to refrain from broadcasting her insinuations to the entire army, and I knew none of them would work.

Her steps fumbled, the bounce slowing as she turned back to me. "What? You and Cully-Wully riding each other up and down the mountain is supposed to be some big secret? Cat's long out of the bag."

"It's..." Something caught my eye, pulling me away from her inquisitive face. I knew a burn skirted up my cheeks rising to highlight the vallaslin, but I tried to play it off by chasing an invisible butterfly. Sera's hand patted my arm, and I turned back to her. Compassion filled those mischievous eyes as she peered into me.

"I think it's great."

"You do?"

"Sure, nothing pisses off the elfy elves like one of us macking all over someone who's not one of 'em. 'It ruins the proper order of the bloodlines, can't return to what we once were, blah blah blah.'"

Patting her hand, I sighed, "Thanks, I suppose." I jerked my chin up to the landing, "Better get to breakfast before it's all gone."

Sera jerked away, the spring back in her step, "Ooh, waffles!" She scampered up the incline and through the doors, batting around the merchants and one of the visiting nobility hovering outside the door. The woman shifted aside to let me pass, but her massive skirt still snagged against my hip, jangling my mail. It was enough to raise the heads of just about everyone gathered for a meal.

I waved, summoning the false bravado I wore as a child when mocking the keeper. It got me through most of the meetings with dignitaries and nobility.

Both tables overran with piled platters, elbows reaching across and around each other to slide goodies onto them. The chairs creaked from bodies crammed into every slot. I could barely spy the options through limbs and fancy headwear flapping about. After a quick deference to the Inquisitor, they returned to their meal, metal clanging against clay and whatever else could be used for dinnerware.

Sera yanked back a chair and plopped beside Bull. Rather than acquire a plate, the qunari grabbed up one of the serving platters and piled thirty waffles on top. Dorian kept side eyeing the monstrous tower of breakfast while carefully sawing away at a small egg tart.

"Oi, give up some of those!" Sera cried, pointing to Bull's stash.

He shook his horns, "Should have gotten here earlier." Grinning, he grabbed five waffles in his fist and jammed them into his mouth. Gobs of un-chewed waffle slobbered off the sides of his mouth, spattering onto the table.

Dorian paled, placing his utensils down, "I shall never be able to eat again."

"Here," Blackwall rose up from his seat across the table and slid two of his waffles onto Sera's plate. "I can't stand the things."

"Then why did you grab them?" Dorian asked. Blackwall shrugged and upended a pot of gatlok sauce onto his eggs. Dorian turned around to eye up Josephine sitting beside Leliana. "Oh, I understand. Our lady ambassador is a fan."

"I don't know what you mean," Blackwall mumbled, egg and hot sauce dripping down his beard.

Dorian shuddered at the second display driving him to possible starvation, "Barbarians."

The object of Blackwall's fascination rose from her seat, but she waved to me not him, "Inquisitor!"

Smiling politely I made my way for her. Behind I heard Sera call out, "Pass the mustard."

A curious part of me wanted to see if she was really planning on drenching her coveted waffled in mustard, but the part that didn't wish to starve kept me focused ahead and walking towards Josephine. Much like Dorian, she had a lone tart upon her plate circled by a single slice of melon. Cassandra grunted at the meager offerings, tearing into the remains of some bird's leg from last night.

"Lady Inquisitor," Josephine said. She began to rise, but I held up my hand to stop her. There wasn't room for me at the table, so I propped my foot up on a barrel and leaned. Very inquistorinel.

"Don't worry Josie, I'm not that hungry."

"I'm sorry," she said, and then unearthed her clipboard from the floor where it was safest. "I must have missed it. Was there an outing you planned for today? I don't have anything on the schedule."

"What?" I leaned back, then drifted down to the armor I was still wearing, "Oh, that. No, I was taking a walk early this morning and I heard a wyvern. Flapping around the battlements. But it ran off deeper into the woods. So I thought I'd slip out and kill it before it did any damage to stuff."

"A wyvern?" Josie cried, excited at the possibilities. Cassandra snorted at my poor lie, but it was Varric whose eyes I felt boring into the side of my head.

"A mountain wyvern, I guess. Very dangerous, with its poison and fangs and things..."

"I'm glad you stopped it before it attacked the retinue coming up from Halamshiral," Josephine smiled at me.

Leliana smiled, "Oh, Josie."

"What?"

"I'll explain later," the spymaster said, digging through her bowl of oatmeal. It was all she ate every morning.

Varric shoved back his plate and rose, "My compliments to whoever convinced the chef to get back in the kitchen after Cole's visit." I inched away to give him a chance to exit, but he stopped and looked up at me, "A word if you don't mind, your Inquisitorilness."

"Of course," I said to him, bowing to the remaining of my advisers.

Trailing behind Varric towards the empty throne I couldn't help but overhear Cassandra snicker, "Mountain wyvern." It was going to be a long day.

I leaned down closer to the dwarf as he whispered, "Not the worst story I've heard. Mythical beasts always sell well, though you shoulda added something with a bit more oomph like its ability to spit acid or launch baby dragons from its mouth."

"How do you know it's a story?" I tried to dance away from the obvious, doing so well at it already.

Varric eyed me up, "Give me some credit. No, the story wasn't bad, but you've got to work better on your presentation. Maybe throw a bit of hot sauce around for wyvern blood, run in panting. Actually, that wouldn't help your case. But your biggest downfall was what's missing behind you?"

"Why, what's-?" I reached around my shoulder and my hand snagged on air. "Oh, creators..." My daggers, I forgot my own bloody daggers.

"It's the little things that'll trip you up every time," Varric continued. He surveyed our friends scattered across the hall. Even Vivienne bothered to show up, a wall of nobility surrounding and protecting her. Not that that stopped Sera from trying to lob bits of whipped cream at her, all of which sizzled and burned in midair.

"Look, I've been meaning to tell you this," Varric began. "Maybe it's not my place to be saying, but we're glad to see you happy. Both of you. Shit, if anyone needed a hug, it's Curly. You just went beyond the call of duty."

"Varric, I -"

"Yeah, yeah, Inquisitor shit. All that big untouchable hero stuff. I get it. You need 'em to be bigger than life and unbreakable. But then there's all that downtime between saving the world, stopping a demon army, putting up with fancy Orlesian parties. And you two work together. At least you can get that scowl off his face once in awhile. Thought it was a permanent fixture until you came along."

At the end of the hall, Cullen and the dwarven scout - as well as another dozen or so Skyhold residents - appeared. He glanced around through the breakfasting faces, then spotted me. Waving my errant daggers towards me, a soft smile filled his face.

"Varric," I said, patting him on the shoulder, "thanks. I needed that."

"No problem," he said. I stepped away from him, towards the commander. "And we can work on your story telling skills later!"

Cullen turned around, indicating the masses, and said, "Busier than I expected." I didn't answer, only stepped closer to him. He held out my daggers, "Thought you might still need these."

Reaching out, my fingers slotted around the handles; but I pushed them aside and rose up to meet Cullen. A moment's confusion knitted his brow as I plunged onto his lips. He stood helpless and lost, but began to return the favor. Inquisitor and commander making out in front of the entire hold. It started small, just a tiny clap here, a whoop there, but the avalanche began and took on a life of its own. All of the hall broke into applause and cries of joy.

I opened one eye and glanced towards Vivienne and her retinue of nobles. Almost all of the hall. But even she had a small smirk across her frosty face. Cullen broke from the kiss, unable to withstand all the scrutiny. Fervently staring at the now bemused audience, he whispered, "What was that all about?"

"I'm tired of being the hero, I wanted to just be me."

"All right?" he stumbled, but slipped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a side hug.

I inched up on my tiptoes and whispered, "By the way, tonight, it's my place not yours."


	8. Moment of Desire

The throbbing behind my jaw intensified to a drumming through the muscles in the back of my head. I crossed over the gates of Skyhold, trying to keep my body as far from the bounce of the saddle as possible. The long ride did in what little I had left of my spirit - even my fellow companions fell silent from my mood, grumbling from my dour mood.

I got as far as technically being inside my hold before jumping off the horse. Stablehands rushed from the wings, ready to snatch up the reins. Someone planted a rumor that Dalish only rode halla because their skin could burn a horse's flesh. Normally, I'd curse a storm at such nonsense, but it did cause servants to rush to tend to my horse at record speeds. I didn't have the focus to take care of the problem myself, and was happy to pass it off.

One of the younger stablehands with knotted brown hair tried to scamper past, but I snagged his arm. Through my locked jaw I chewed one word out, "Cullen?"

"Oh, um, I believe he was last spotted in the training yard. Your worship," was tacked on at the end, his eyes drawing across my armor coated in demon ichor. It had not been a good trip. I nodded brusquely at his answer and stalked towards the commander.

Behind me I heard Dorian whistle, "Someone's in trouble."

"What'd Curly even do?" Varric asked back, but I had no time to explain to them, no words that would suffice. My temples throbbed from a buzzing in my blood and an unquenchable thirst rasped my throat dry. A sneer embedded into my cheeks, the uncomfortableness in my body draining my usual demeanor from good natured, to disgruntled, to a one syllable speaking monster liable to rip someone's head off for looking at me wrong.

There was only one solution and he was apparently surrounded by his men. This wasn't going to go over well. I tried picking up the pace, but that only made the throbbing increase, the chainmail snapping against my thighs and chafing the far too tender area. Moving like a woman with her ankles chained together, I eased down the incline to find Cullen commanding amongst a small battalion of soldiers. They weren't in the middle of any serious exercises, a few of them having taken knees to listen to the commander droning on about duty, and tactics, and other things I'd at least nod about if I were in a better mood.

He looked up from his rant long enough to spy me and smiled. I wished I could return it, but it took all my concentration to keep walking towards him. Holding a wide berth around the soldiers, I circled until I could stand beside the commander. The winds shifted, casting his musky scent towards me - I swallowed back a growl, jabbing my fingers into my eyelids to maintain my grip on reality. Cullen's diatribe slipped away as he twisted towards me, waiting for me to gift them with word's of heraldry encouragement.

My jaw tensed up, speaking grinding to a halt as my body raged war against itself. Unable to explain, I grabbed his naked hand for once free of his gloves and yanked him up the staircase. "Um," Cullen didn't fight me, but he turned back and waved towards his soldiers. "Dismissed...but make sure to properly stack your equipment. We don't need an armory of dented shields."

A couple dozen eyes followed us as the tiny elven woman dragged the commander of the Inquisition across the battlements by his hand. He tried to get a word in, but I shook him off, shoving for anywhere that was private. My hand snagged on a doorknob and I pulled him into one of the many unfinished rooms skirting around Skyhold.

Rotten planks cracked from the roof lay strewn across the bed rendering it unsalvageable and useless, but a table stood at the other end of the room. That might do. I released Cullen's hand and tried to steady my head, but that only drew out the throbbing like weep from a wound.

He, however, stuck his hand on his sword and watched me struggle to rise up to face him. Wary concern washed over his eyes. "What is it? Is something wrong? Something we need to discuss?"

I shook my head in the negative and, biting down on my tongue, managed to get out, "No."

Confusion twisted up his eyebrows as he leaned back, both hands now gripping that damn sword. I wanted to explain, to give voice to what boiled below my skin, but the nearness of him shattered what modicum of resolve I'd managed to that point. The heat of his body, the scent from his skin - I more than wanted it. I needed it pressed against me. Desired it.

I reached my fingers out and wrapped them around his head, knotting in the curls, pulling him down to me. Shock slackened his lips as my own lapped across his, my tongue overtaking his. After steadying himself, he gripped tight around my waist - his fingers pinching the mail into my skin, trying to keep up with my wild affection. He was a refresing sip of spring water to my parched body.

Cullen twisted his head away for breath, something I didn't seem to need anymore. Coughing for a moment, he smiled, "Oh, it's nice to see you as well."

But the throbbing inside my bones wasn't satiated, my brain sparking in a continuous trill of tantalizations. Cocking one eyebrow, my fingers gripped onto Cullen's belt, sliding the loop through his hasty knot and whipping it off. His sword clattered to the ground, the noise echoing through the broken room and out the hole in the roof. A blush bloomed up his cheeks as I moved to work off his pants, the knot easy for one who knew where he kept the thing.

"Um, is that..." he started, glancing towards the door that anyone in Skyhold could throw open at a moments notice.

Even with my body screaming at me, I paused, holding his pants up. My voice eeked out only one word, a question. "Yes?"

Perhaps it was the uncut desire burning in those three letters, my raw throat growling the word, but Cullen caught my ill formed question of consent and nodded. Threading his own fingers through my hair and down my back, he tried to find my flesh under the armor. But I could feel him even though the bite of mail, his body heat enflaming my skin. I released my grip, his pants thudding to the ground. The unexpected breeze was enough to flare up the dampened fires. Cullen smiled at my impatience, his fingers trying to undo the dozens of straps keeping that armor pinned to me. He managed one, pausing to circle across my breasts and rustle my attention seeking nipples, before I jumped up, unable to take the tease. I ran my hands across his now naked hips and around to the perfect scoops of ass, my thumbs landing in the dimples just above. His hands fell down my body, following every curve until he gripped onto my hips, his body flattening against mine. Kissing up and down my jaw, his lips left a trail of burning impressions in my skin, before he plunged back to mine.

My own fingers were not idle, one hand sliding down through our tangled bodies to grip onto his cock. A groan rumbled in my throat from it rising - his excitement increasing as he tried to properly unhook the mail across my armor. But there wasn't time. Blood rushed in my ears, until all I could hear was the sounds of the ocean thudding through my heart and the slap of intoxicating kisses.

Guiding his hand down, together we worked off my pants, all the easier because of the lack of shoes. I grabbed onto his shoulders burrowing deep into the fur and rising to return for more kisses, but his fingers thrummed up and down my thighs. Once sore to the touch, now they burned in pleasure - a tumbling rising in my stomach from his touch. Tantalizingly slow, he traced a finger outside me - traveling each contour of my lips - before dipping in, stirring up the wetness that'd plagued me for days. The callus on his finger, where the flesh never healed from mage fire, roused my tender skin, its texture perfect to stimulate because it was him. He smiled at what seemed an instant affect, which I'd have to explain later, but his fingers danced up to thrum against the bundle of nerves connected to my core.

I grabbed onto his wrist and shook my head, terrified what anymore stimulation could do. "Not needed," my voice managed to breathe out.

That drew his attention more than whipping his belt off. "Are you certain? I don't...you deserve... I would never wish to hurt you." Any other time, preferably in any other location, I'd be more than happy to let him take his time exploring me with his fingers and tongue until I squirmed to bursting, but right now I needed only a quick release.

"Tasallan," I cursed, rolling my eyes. Grabbing onto the battered edges of his dangling surcoat, I tugged him with me as I backed up onto the table and jumped onto it. Cullen couldn't bite down the look of hunger while I wrapped my legs around his taut ass, pulling him closer. He leaned down to kiss me again, yanking his white spire away. My impatience rose from the normally sweet move, and I dug my heels in. Gripping onto his full cock, I guided him inside me.

"Sweet creators!" I cried, savoring every twist and turn from that first thrust. A gasp rattled in Cullen's throat as he leaned closer, spreading his legs wider for a better stance. His fingers bit deep into the table, the biceps rising up through his surcoat from the effort. Locking my own legs around his waist for support, I leaned back on my elbows.

He thrusted even deeper inside me, each merciful pump matched by my pushing towards him on my elbows. As his cock provided that perfect pressure, the throbbing in my body abated to something new building inside me, a cleansing counter to the burning that'd tormented me. I reached up, my fingers running along his forearms and gripping tight as the muscles contracted below. The contact spurred something new in Cullen, a growl threading through his concentrated panting.

Then...Crack!

The thrusting stopped and his eyes flew down to the table creaking from age and some idiot jumping on top of it. "Oh dear," he muttered, removing himself from me.

No! The days long headache, momentarily broken from his being inside me, smashed into my skull - pulverizing my brains like a war hammer. I wiggled off the cracking table, landed onto the ground, and spun around. Now my fingers bit into the table, my ass butting into the man slick from my wetness. Twisting my head around, I watched him run a hand across his face. "Okay," he said, biting down a shake in his voice. Was he feeling the same burning desire spun through me? Creators, I hoped not.

First he caressed my lower back, drawing some abstract lines in my skin, then he finally dipped down to cup my ass lifting it high enough. I slid my legs further apart, but braced myself for the tight fit. He took his time, dipping in and out of me with his fingers - as if I'd suddenly dried up in the downtime. A sigh of consternation and desire broke from my throat. I'd have shouted for him to get on with it if I could get my jaw to open. The throbbing burned in every corner of my body - even my eyes blinked in a delectable pain.

Cullen got the message and sidled closer to me. With one hand on himself, and another lifting me up, he entered me again. Somehow the second was even more intense, the lower half of my body prickling from pleasure. His first few thrust started out shallow, with an eye on the table, but it was willing to play along now and didn't crack in half. My own mind drifted further away from me, the burning in my blood switching from pain to something so much better.

His hands drifted off the small of my back to grip onto my hips, the fingers digging into my bones. With the leverage, he thrust himself deeper inside of me - the ends of his coat slapping into my ass. I threw my head back, wanting to scream something encouraging but all that came out was another groan - deep from within my soul. He worked his own magic, twisting his hips with each thrust to rifle against every part of me.

Pressure rose from my core, expanding out where we connected. I lost all feeling in my toes, the numbness crawling up through the shins. It weaved my nerves, strumming each one like a lute until my body hummed in anticipation. Even my hair ached for sweet relief. But as my mind floated about three feet above my throbbing body, something waited inside me. It wasn't enough.

Whether Cullen sensed it or not, I couldn't tell. His own breathing increased, punctuated by the occasional gasp. I feared I might be trapped at the edge of this infernal abyss forever when he cried out, "Oh Maker."

My body twanged with him, a pop reverberating through all of me. It was nothing like an orgasm. This felt like a rift shredding through the veil, combined with my ears finally breaking from the mountains pressure, and cracking every out of synch bone in my body. Days of pressure broke in one second, sucking my limbs dry. I tried to keep upright, but my grip had nothing against the full weight of my body and I tumbled to the ground like a puppet with cut strings. Mercifully, Cullen pulled out in time so my graceless fall didn't break anything.

Bare assed on the floor, I curled up into my lap struggling to remind myself of my name and where I was. Even that seemed a stretch at the moment.

"What," Cullen panted, rubbing his forehead to smooth back the sweaty locks, "was that?"

Oh, maybe that loud pop hadn't just been inside my ears. A tremble knotted up my shoulders and I tried to force out the words weighing down my tongue. "Desire demon," I confessed, tears of joy pricking in my eyes from being able to finally voice the truth.

Cullen snorted a laugh, trying to rub sense into his flushed cheeks, then his face crumbled into compassion from my drained body crumpled on the floor. Using my shoulders as a guide, he sat down beside me. I managed to unknot my body enough to lean into him. He wrapped both arms tighter around me and plucked a kiss against my forehead. "Maker," he said, a tremor in his raspy voice, "that was...it felt like a mana surge at the end."

I nodded as if I knew what that felt to a templar. I'd compare it to trying to grab onto the tail end of lightning, surviving, and then realizing at some point you have to let go. My face crumpled onto his chest, bouncing slightly against the armor I didn't have the wherewithal to strip from him earlier.

"First one I ever saw," I said, the words finally flowing. "Got distracted by a rage demon and it snuck up behind me. Boom, in my head or...other bits, I guess."

Cullen nodded along, "Fought a few of those before. Not as bad as the pride ones."

"After this, I'd take two pride demons," I interrupted. "And a despair one to finish the set." My body couldn't be more exhausted than if I'd run across all of Thedas while carrying Bull on my back. Creators knew how long it'd be until I could walk again.

Cullen's fingers tried to unravel my knotted hair, still clogged with debris from the forest I hadn't been in the right mindset to remove. "When templars are hit by a desire demon, we try to find some, um, alone time to take care of the problem."

I rolled around to eye him up, malice dripping from my stone face, "I tried that. Many times. Didn't work."

"You did?" he broke away, "and it...doing that didn't help?"

"Did a fantastic job of making things sore and then somehow worse," I sighed. Moping over my predicament while my lover tended to me seemed preferential, but a lightness rose in my heart. After so long under the curse, it felt wonderful to be able to think again, speak again, not have every light breeze turn into a dirty thought. I might even be able to properly sit!

"Andraste's breath," Cullen cursed, "that must have been a powerful demon."

I shrugged, "It didn't seduce all the arrows to its face so well."

"Where was this rift?" Cullen asked, twisting around as if he could see it through the walls and far of the mountain.

"Down in the Emerald Graves," I said, "which I'm not going back to for a few weeks. Months. Years."

"Emerald Graves, but that's a..."

"Three day ride," I finished for him. "I know."

"You suffered that for three days?" he cried, now piling the sympathy on me. I snuggled deeper into him, my warm breath fogging up his breastplate. He rubbed up and down my back, trying to appease my body tormented by a particularly vengeful demon. A pang bit in my hips, and as I shifted something told me I'd find some finger shaped bruises across them. Neither of us had been ourselves.

Now, Cullen tended to me in the strangest after play, his fingers softly caressing up and down my skin as he stared through the wall. I suspected years of demon fights churned behind his distracted eyes, trying to catalogue whatever I ran into. After a moment, Cullen shrugged and placed his lips to my beading forehead. "It's a lucky thing you are not a man."

"It's not much better," I grumbled, wanting to wallow longer, "a bit less awkwardness in the pants department maybe, but things get...sensitive real fast. Especially on horseback." Cullen fell silent from my vague explanation, his fingers drumming against my arms. "Besides, if I were a man, you'd probably have to fight Dorian for me."

"Dorian? Really?" Cullen asked, arching an eyebrow.

I shrugged, "He is very pretty."

That drew a hearty laugh from him as he nodded his head. "Fair enough, I suppose."

A cold breeze blew across the gap in the door and I shifted, realizing both of us sat upon the filthy ground bare bottomed. It would be quite the sight to stumble upon - the Inquisitor and Commander squatting half naked in rubble. I shifted to reach for whatever pair of pants I found first, but Cullen pulled me tighter to him. My worrier seemed in no mood to jump up and return to his duties. Who was I to argue?

Rolling my fingers across his face, I sat up to kiss him, soft and gentle - the sweet one I'd have preferred upon returning to him if my blood weren't boiling in my veins. He smiled, his golden eyes blinking softly as he pushed the always errant hairs off my forehead. After a breath he whispered, "Just in case, if you don't know but a templar could have purged the desire demon's spell."

"What?"

"Or, I suppose a mage," he said, shrugging as if this was just some slip of information no more vital than a tavern song or a grocery list. Yes, I'll take three eggs, a loaf of bread and one dispel please. My nipples have bitten through my chainmail.

"Seriously. I could have been rid of this problem three days ago from a wave of Dorian's fingers?"

Cullen blinked and deadpanned, "I hope there'd be a bit more to it." I glared at him, but he only smiled, "It should serve you well if you run into another desire demon. Not that I didn't enjoy purging the spell with you."

"Gonna be hard to top that one," I said.

"Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeve," he smiled, easing my chin up for another kiss.

A knock reverberated from the door I'd slammed shut and a soft voice apologized through it. "Um, Inquisitor and, uh, Commander. Could you maybe, that is, if you're done doing the...oh I shouldn't have said that. We just, we really need to get through. Please."


	9. Moment of Perfection

My foot snagged on a brick atop a pile of its brethren. Nearly six months since we moved into Skyhold and I still hadn't bothered to clear it out. I glared at them for a moment and sighed, exhaustion making the decision for me.

"I'll move you later," I muttered, climbing up the last stairs to my quarters, knowing it won't happen. There were far more important duties for the Inquisitor than a pile of loose bricks and some starlings nesting in the ceiling.

Weariness clouded my brow. The others who traveled with me barely made it through the hold's doors before collapsing in a heap. It wasn't supposed to go quite so badly, but that's the thing with dragons. Even when it goes according to plan, you're still fighting a damn dragon!

Steadying on the bannister, my head poked over the landing to find a balm for the rawest soul. The porcelain bath Josie surprised me with gurgled in the vast space between bed and fireplace. Steam still hissed off the water. No one should have known when we'd be back, but I spotted the ravens preceding us and convinced Sera to not shoot them out of the sky.

Dropping the bag brimming with elfroot (we always need the damn stuff) onto my bed, I twisted my shoulder's knots begging for a moment's relief. The rattling of bolts reverberated below me as someone yanked open the door, armored feet stomping up the stairs two at a time.

Sighing, I dipped my fingers into the tub. The siren call was overbearing. It was right here, waiting to soothe away a weeks worth of tramping around in the mud and muck. But I only trailed my fingers through the water, making little glyph symbols to pass the time as he rounded that first staircase and made for the second.

My lips curled as I heard him pause at the landing, his labored breathing trying to overcome the armor he insisted on wearing everywhere.

"Maker's breath, you could have told me you were back!" he grumbled.

"Hello, Cullen," I said, then turned towards him. His hands rested upon his sword hilt as he fiddled with it. "I'm back."

"I see that now."

"So there's nothing to worry about," I said, rising away from the tub.

"You traveled to fight a dragon, there's plenty to worry about."

I pulled back my sleeves, exposing dirty but undamaged flesh, "Look, no burn marks."

His whiskered chin jerked towards my head. "What about that?"

Sheepishly, I pulled off the helmet I forgot I still had on. A char pattern covered the top half and shattered one of the wings on the side. It was always kind of a stupid design and whipped in the wind. The dragon improved it. Self consciously, I tried to comb my flat hair into place, but he didn't care. Crossing heel to toe, Cullen reached out for the helmet. I dropped it into his hands so he could inspect the damage.

"Useless now," he declared, poking a finger into the char and denting deep into the compromised metal.

"I never liked it much anyway. She did me a favor." Those doleful eyes turned on me and my smirk wavered, "Cullen..."

His gloved hand worked through my knotted hair, trying to shape it. I ran my fingers along his arm, burrowing into the pelt across his shoulders.

"I know you worry..."

"Find me a man who wouldn't," he said, cupping around my jaw.

"Which is why I'll fight through the void to come back to you."

That delectable scar across his lips rose with his smile. Knotting my fingers through his shoulder pelts, I rose on my toes and kissed him. He stumbled for a moment, always tensing before letting himself give in. Cullen's hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer to him. The armor bit into my chest, but I ignored the pain.

Breaking free of my lips, he placed his forehead against mine and said, "Don't think I've forgiven you for stopping here before coming to see me."

"You were in a meeting. A big one with Duke de Something or Other," I waved my hands to mimic the mask, "What was I supposed to do, kick open the door, throw a dragon carcass on the table, and jump on top of you?"

He blinked slowly, then lifted a shoulder, "That is a tempting image."

Laughter jumbled in my throat, still scratchy from the dragon's fire. "Josie'd have my head on a platter, but, for you...I'll try. Next dragon hunt."

Cullen's soft smile fell. "You suspect there will be another?"

"Emprise, Crestwood, the Hissing Wastes, seems like the dragons are thicker than nugs in southern Thedas." I pulled away from his warm arms and sat upon the bed. Exhaustion rattled my bones as I tipped my head into my hands. "In truth, dragon hunting isn't something I fully feel comfortable with."

"Oh?"

"Cassandra looks upon it as if she's fulfilling some ancient legacy. Solas grows quiet, insular..." from his eyebrow raise, I added, "more insular. As if we're destroying a piece of history. And Bull...It's probably best if you don't know about Bull and dragons."

He finally collapsed beside me and picked up my hands in his. "What of you?"

Sighing, I glanced towards the ceiling. The setting sun cast colors through the windows. From the prism of the cloudy skies, they danced upon the ceiling. "Dragons are dangerous and kill people. I'm in the profession of stopping people from being killed. Sometimes it's that simple."

"Ha," Cullen laughed once then burrowed his face into my shoulder. I'm certain I stank of bog, sweat, and that brimstone dragon odor, but he didn't pull away, only lay there. I ruffled through his hair, twisting it around my fingers.

"Commander, Sir."

We both snapped up. Cullen jumped off the bed and glared at the dwarven scout who snuck into the room undetected.

"What is it?"

"Comte de Ghislain is waiting for you," she said, holding out a report and trying to bury a blush across her cheeks.

"That blowhard's been waffling with us for weeks now!" Cullen cursed, yanking the report away from the scout.

"He says he's willing to sit down and discuss options, now."

"I'd like to discuss how far my boot can get up his ass," Cullen continued, batting at the report.

The dwarven scout's eyes only crossed to me a few times, but I could read the prayer on her lips, "Thank the ancestors they weren't naked." Otherwise, she focused fully on her raging commander.

"I will be going now," she said inching away. Getting halfway down the first staircase she called out a "Sir!" then ran for it.

Cullen sighed, still poring over the vellum.

"Well, that should keep the troops entertained for awhile," I said, rising off the bed.

"This damn Comte's been flooding us with missives swearing support then yanking it at the last moment," Cullen shouted.

"Uh huh," I muttered, my fingers working the buttons across my vest. It hit the floor with a thud that didn't distract the commander too absorbed in his problems.

"And every time I insist we ignore him, Leliana returns with another report insisting he's the connection we need."

"Right," I continued. "Where's that damn...ah here it is," I unknotted the chains binding the last of the leather to my skin and shook it off.

The sound of twenty pounds of dragon hide hitting the floor was enough to catch Cullen's attention and he finally broke from his reading to find me naked. I placed a hand on my hip and asked sweetly, "Anything else about the Comte?"

"The what?" he shook his head, trying to will himself to look away. "Oh, yes, the Comte..." His voice trailed off as I picked the report from his fingers to glance over it. Most of it was in the curly script of our ex-Bard, but there were a few jagged marks where Cullen vehemently disagreed with her. Occasionally to the point of smashing a quill in the margins.

"What do you think?" he asked after a time.

"I think..." I tossed the report onto the bed, "I will be taking a much deserved bath and that my commander should join me."

His eyes closed softly as he exasperated, "You tempt me so, but..."

"But what?" I asked, "This Comte is clearly playing the game. Why not play it back and leave him waiting for a few hours...or more?"

His scar rose at the thought I placed in his mind of the Comte frothing with rage at having to wait, or perhaps it was from my bare flesh. "I have a lot of work to do..."

"Cullen," I said, waving at my chest. Before he could answer, I turned towards the tub and slid a leg in. The heat bit into my unprepared flesh, but it adjusted quickly, aching for the relief across my muscles. Slowly, I added the rest of my body, carefully sliding down the side of the tub so not to slip. My toes poked out of the water, one nail still missing courtesy of a chevalier hoof.

Flailing in my periphery caused me to turn in time to watch the scrumptious ass of my commander as he wiggled out of his armor. The boots seemed to be giving him a right problem, which gave me a better show.

I slid forward across the tub pulling my knees up to my chest. A muscular forearm landed beside me across the tub's rim and I trailed my fingers across the nearly invisible hair. Cullen steadied himself before climbing in behind me, his legs sliding around my hips. I leaned back onto him, his warmth more intoxicating than the bath's. He reached an arm around me, pulling me into a hug. My head slipped back, settling upon his shoulder as my eyes slipped closed.

With his left arm still guarding me, his right hand slid down my arm laid across the tub's lip. The deep gouging from a mage fire gone awry, healed into a callous dug into my flesh, but I didn't mind. I wanted to kiss every scar on his body, every hurt in his brain, just to soothe for a moment in this unending world.

"I really shouldn't stay long."

"Uh huh," I muttered, nuzzling deeper into his chest, "bits of you claim otherwise."

He laughed, "Just because I wish to doesn't mean I should."

"Cullen, take a moment. Relax. Enjoy this lovely pair of breasts."

"If you insist," he said kissing my neck and cupping around said breasts.

"Isn't this much better than running after some Orlesian nob or calibrating the trebuchets?"

He paused in his light kisses and whispered, "Do you have to ask?"

"It can't be all dragons and comtes. Sometimes it's just you, me, no clothes, a tub...and an unlocked door."

I expected him to bolt from my epiphany, but he slid lower into the tub and wrapped both arms around me. He buried his face into my shoulder and whispered, "Forget the door. This is perfect."

I tried to turn but he held me fast, "You better not be an envy demon that assumed Cullen's face."

"And if I were?"

Reaching my arm towards the artfully arranged towels for the soap, I mused, "Wouldn't be the first time I've fought demons nude."

"Oh?"

"A very long story I have to be much drunker to tell." The soap slipped from my fingers and plopped into the tub, disappearing into the piles of legs. Searching caused more water to slosh onto the ground.

"I was thinking," Cullen started, first lightly rubbing my shoulders, then digging deeper into the knots. "Perhaps the next time you decide to go on a dragon hunt, I could accompany you."

"You would?"

"It would keep me from worrying about you."

"You wouldn't worry here, you would worry there while dodging fireballs. Have you ever fought a dragon?"

He paused his massage in thought, "Oddly, once. In the circle tower in Ferelden a mage kept a pet dragonling. It was a disaster after it sprayed all over the library and nested in the wall."

I patted his hand and said, "The high ones are a tiny bit trickier than a baby dragon. If you're going to come with, we might need to start you out on something smaller."

"Oh?"

"Like a pack of nugs."

Cullen snorted, his fingers trailing across my hips. "It's good to know what my Inquisitor thinks of my combat skills."

I twisted around in the tub and reached my sopping hand to his chin, rubbing across the eternal whiskers. "I happen to think quite highly of your skills," I purred before pulling him down for a kiss.

As I slid away for air, I asked, "Still want to run back to the Comte?"

"Never," and he wrapped me tight in his arms, never wanting to let go. I squeezed him back twice as hard.


	10. Moment of Choice pt 1

He hunched over the war table, the cozy autumn light highlighting those golden rings of hair. Using a bottle from one of the Grey Warden vintages, Cullen debated where to mark something on the big map. No one'd been willing to crack any of the bottles open to have a taste. Not even Dorian nine silk sheets to the wind was willing to try "some tainted swill probably urinated back in the bottle thrice over that you unearthed from the blighted ground." Skyhold was a lot more empty without him.

Silently shutting the massive war room door, I tiptoed towards the commander currently in a debate about whether the Dragon Piss should provide aid to Lydes or Jadar. Cullen started as my arms slipped below his drapery, pulling myself deeper into him. Even through the armor, I felt his warmth and the hints of a body I craved to crack out of it.

"For the Maker's sake, I hope that's you."

"Does someone else sneak up behind you and kiss your neck?" I asked.

"I would not put it past Cole," Cullen jibed, drawing a laugh from me.

I had to stand on my tiptoes to rest my chin upon his shoulder and gaze across the far emptier map before us. Smells of iron, sunlit dust, and that personal musk I found every morning on the pillows wafted from the fur below my chin. Digging even deeper into him, I asked, "What are you doing?"

"Checking." He decided the ale worked best in a small hamlet in Ferelden, and ran his fingers across mine.

"Checking on what? We stopped the demon army, saved the Empire, and - oh yeah - obliterated Corypheus into tiny magistar pieces. Been pretty quiet since."

"There are a few matters still requiring attention. Did you see the report about the rise in bandit activity along the...?"

I squeezed him tighter, cutting off his concern. The commander faded away to reveal just the man below the armor. "Cullen, this is break time. Putting down the sword for a bit and breathing. I think we deserve this vacation."

He twisted in my arms, spinning until he could beam those amber eyes upon me. Josephine still got letters extolling their exquisiteness from the nobles at the Winter palace, as well as comments about that whiskered jawline one could lick for days, and how that ass was poured into our Inquisition finery. She let me read and reply to the really steamy ones.

Cullen gripped onto me, fingers digging into my back. His hugs were never half assed. It was either full on ensnared pulling me into him or nothing. "I quite agree," he said, catching me off guard.

"Really? The commander can put away his duties for a fortnight? Forget all this rebuilding the world stuff and relax? I'll believe it when I see it."

He snorted at my impertinence, then leaned forward for a kiss. I took advantage of the opportunity, lightly sucking upon his bottom lip and entangling our tongues.

"I have been known to relax from time to time," his fingers drifted ever downward as his voice dropped to a whisper, "when there is sufficient cause." The smirk fell away as he glanced back at that map, "But there yet remain a few fires to manage before we depart."

"Like packing?" I asked.

"I've already finished that and..." he paused, searching my face. "Have you not begun?" I shrugged, it was on my to do list right after mauling my commander in the war room. "You know we leave tomorrow, right?"

"Of course, I can do it later. Not as if I need much. An outfit to the seaside villa and one to return in. Maybe a sack to hold souvenirs."

"We'll be gone for two weeks," Cullen said.

"Yes, two weeks of just you, me, surf pounding against an emptied retreat, and no pants." It was a shame those Orlesian poets weren't around to describe the blush strafing his cheeks with a greater might than our army. How many words rhyme with rouge?

"That's, well...I hadn't considered, if you-" his stammer fell into a whisper and I cut the flow off with a kiss.

"See, that's why I'm the one in charge. I've got all the big ideas. You just figure out how to execute them."

Smirking, my commander wrapped his hands under my buttocks and scooped me up. I couldn't stop the giggles as he spun me around to plant me upon the war map, scattering our forces northward. His lips danced across my jaw, down my neck. I don't know which of us growled in anticipation, perhaps both.

My fingers traipsed through those blonde curls, knotting hair and giving just the right tug. It elicited just the sigh I wanted, and I used the moment to make my request.

Catching his eyes, I whispered, "No armor, though."

"What?" he twisted his head to catch up, all the blood in his brain pooling elsewhere.

"On this trip, it - Commander and Inquisitor - stays here. We're just two people with a lot of catching up to do," I enunciated my point by sliding my fingers up his thighs and drumming them just beside the White Spire.

Even then, duty couldn't fully slip away, "What if we're attacked by -?"

"Cullen!"

He tossed his head, accepting defeat gracefully, "As if I could ever refuse you."

"Actually, you have on quite a few occasions -" He leaned into me, pushing me down further onto the map while his fingers began working the first of five hundred buttons down my tunic.

"Ruffles said you might be in here and..." The door to the war room slammed open. "Oh for...Andraste's asscheeks," Varric moaned. Cullen sprang away from me, but kept his back turned to the dwarf shaking his head in the doorway. Not all of him could come unsprung quickly.

"This is why I'm glad I'm heading back to Kirkwall soon," Varric said. But he still chuckled as the Herald of Andraste jumped off her almost defiled war table. "It was bad enough running into Sparkler and Tiny playing subjugate to the Qun."

"We were only..." Cullen began, guiltily glancing at me.

"You don't need to draw me pictures, Curly. I'm sure dozens of smut peddlers across Thedas are way ahead of you."

"What?" Cullen spun around, that terrifying focus that could fell nations back. It was a credit to Varric's resolve that he barely acknowledged it.

"The Herald of Andraste and a fallen templar turned leader of the Inquisition's army? Hard to get more salacious than that. There are probably a few out there that involve you two and a dragon."

"Slaying a dragon?" Cullen asked, eliciting a snort from Varric.

I patted him on the shoulder, happy to leave him to his blissful ignorance. "What's the word, Varric?" I asked.

"Got the marching orders from that massive elf running the coach schedule. I'll be heading out in the morning. Just wanted to get in a few goodbyes in case you're too, um, busy. Seems I got the timing wrong."

"So soon?" I asked, stepping towards him.

"Aveline's been punching her way out of some political bullshit with choir boy and Ostwick playing stabby face with Kirkwall in the middle. She thought I could lend a merc group or two her way. Seemed the time to finally book the boat trip home."

"Nothing like a massive wave of people trying to kill you to provide a warm welcome," Cullen said.

"You were in Kirkwall, Curly. That is our greeting."

I held a hand out to Varric, "I'd try to think of something to get you to stay but it's hard to compete with merchant guilds and prince wars." Varric took my hand in his warm one and clung tight to the fingers. "It's hard to imagine Skyhold without you, Varric."

"It'll be a lot more boring, that's for sure."

"I believe Sera's still running around," Cullen added, getting a chuckle from both Varric and I.

"Great, I leave just as Curly finds himself a sense of humor." Cullen grumbled at the cut, but good-naturedly. Their last hand of Wicked Grace ended better than before, except for Blackwall, who still hadn't been seen outside of his barn loft. "Don't think of this as a goodbye, just a to be continued," Varric said, shaking my hand.

Smiling, I pumped my hand. But that wasn't enough for one of the first people to throw himself into this cause, to fight by my side and never once question if I could handle it. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close for a hug. Varric returned it, his hands staying high on my back. He even waved at Cullen to emphasize the point.

As we broke away, Varric said, "If you're ever in Kirkwall be sure to look me up. Unless another demon army falls from the sky. I've had enough of that for a lifetime."

"I think we all have," I said.

Feet clattered down the stone hall and one of the messengers appeared behind Varric. A young elf with mounds of straw colored hair dropping over his eye dipped his head while struggling for a breath. "Ser," he said through pants.

I glanced back at Cullen. It could refer to either of us. The messenger gained his breath and stood tall, "Inquisitor. There's something you should see."

"Oh, what is it?"

"I don't know," his eyes danced from me back to the commander, "I was only ordered by the lookout to fetch you."

I turned back to Cullen, his fingers gripping around his sword's hilt. "Varric?" I asked.

"Bianca's ready as always," he said, patting his crossbow.

Leading the charge, I crossed quickly out of the great hall. A few people milled around in the courtyard just below the stone stairs, but even those stood and pointed at something in the gate to Skyhold. Picking up my steps, the object of contention shifted into view. Purple fabric wafted in the breeze, unpinned from the mast of the land ship trying to wedge its way through the gates.

"What in the Maker's name is that?" Cullen asked behind me. But I knew it.

"It's an aravel." I spun around to the poor kid who still gulped at his first glance of the Dalish. I barely counted to the city elves running around Skyhold, having become as much a part of the chantry as the bowl's of fire. "Were any Dalish scheduled to arrive?"

He couldn't even close his mouth as his head pivoted a no, then a shrug in case it might have all gone over his head. More of the Inquisition jumped to the aravel's aid, shouting out orders and probably getting a glare or three from the elves inside. We didn't like outsiders touching our things. They tended to leave greasy prints behind.

Slowly the ship creaked through, only the occasional crack of wood echoing from the attempt, and rattled to a stop in our now empty courtyard. All the people who had filled it stood behind the aravel, watching expectantly to see who or what was going to exit. They weren't alone. I leaned closer to the edge, wishing I had a spyglass. Someone inside kicked open the door and tossed down the stairs rolled inside. Waving a hand as if testing the air, the occupants began to emerge. From the perch all I could make out were a few elven heads in familiar Dalish armor. Two male, one female, all armed of course, and -

The last of the group stepped out and blood drained from me. I couldn't see the face, or even the body below her massive traveling cloak, but that staff topped with a green crystal carved inside the winding talons of a griffin could only belong to one person.

" Fenedhis lasa!" I cursed under my breath, but not so quiet that it didn't draw Cullen's attention. He tossed a questioning look at me, but I held my hand up to dismiss him. Instead, I stomped down the stairs to MY hold like a moping teenager angry that one of the members of the clan dared to arrange her bedroll without asking.

Josephine dashed from the courtyard, her clipboard in place. "I only just heard we had guests arrive. There was no mention of them prior."

"Looks like we got a drop by from the Dalish," Varric said.

Josephine glanced at the silent aravel, jotted a note down on her never ending list, then turned to me, "Are they friends of yours or an alliance that -"

Like with Cullen I held my hand up to dismiss her words. My jaw throbbed from how hard I ground my teeth, stomping towards the visiting elves. They didn't draw a weapon, but kept watchful eyes upon the uncertain but genial crowd gathering around them. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Sera trying to climb up Bull for a look. But once she spotted the visitors, she shouted, "Frig, elfy elves. I'm outta here."

I wished I could follow.

The elves huddled together, speaking in our broken and pieced together language. One of them turned around and spotted me, pointing. I didn't bother to acknowledge him, my eyes were all on the owner of the staff. She kept her head bowed, the cowl obscuring her vision. As the buzz around her people changed to excitement, she threw it off and turned those beatific eyes upon me.

"Da'len!" she said, extending her hand towards me the same way I would some visiting dignitary I'd never met before.

I skittered but reached out to her, "Keeper."

She yanked me closer, then pulled me into a stiff hug. The others of the clan folded around us, enveloping me into their circle. The faces, names, and strings between us snapped back into my memory. Despite the awkwardness, a smile bloomed in my heart and I folded, returning the hug to them all. Elven words roared around me so quickly I could barely follow; how I was keeping, if I'd been eating well, that shemlan food must be dreadful, and my opinion on the odor of humans. It must have been unbearable surrounded by so many.

Every time I tried to answer one, another rose, speaking over top each other. Only the Keeper, banging her staff upon the ground could bring total stillness to the conversation. "I have missed you, child," she said, patting my cheek.

"I -"

"Inquisitor?" Josephine snapped me back to my place.

Blinking back a warmness bubbling in my eyes, I broke a few steps from the elves and said. "Right, Josie. This is Keeper Deshanna," I said pointing to the woman, "of clan Lavellan."

Shock reverberated through the crowd like a pebble tossed into a still pond. People passed whispers like candy, the ones at the back probably mishearing that this was another invasion by demons and we all had to wear purple hats to prepare. I risked a glance at Cullen but his face was stone, the templar slapped overtop.

Josephine rebounded first. Picking up the edge of her skirt, she lightly curtsied. "Andaran atish'an," she said.

"Josephine, that really isn't..." I started, waving my hand to get her to stop. But I already heard the others of my clan snickering at the shemlan's poor pronunciation. One even flapped his ears down to mock her.

Over my shoulder, I said to the man with more wrinkles than sense, "Len'alas lath'din, Moldan."

He laughed at the insult, but dropped his fingers. Josephine, used to being mocked to her face, didn't even blink. Perhaps after the Orlesian Game and growing up with Antivan politics, a few backwater elves mimicking her seemed quaint and adorable.

"Would you introduce us to the rest of your visiting clan?" she asked, pointing her quill at them.

I tipped my head to the one still snickering behind his hand, "This is Moldan, he tells tales that entertain himself and occasionally others if they suffered head trauma." He bowed his head dramatically, savoring the attention, as if that was something new.

"Eira," I said, indicating the other woman, "Apprentice crafter."

"Ah," Eria interrupted, rising up towards me, "no longer apprentice." Josephine scratched something out on her board. She couldn't actually be writing this all down?

I twisted to catch the last one as he threw down his hood and groaned. Of course. She had to bring him. Dejected, I held a hand out to the man scowling from shemlan, "This is Rhodri, a hunter."

"A pleasure to meet you all," Josephine said. She pointed her quill at Cullen, about to introduce them, but Rhodri stampeded overtop her.

"How long must we remain here?"

"Oh, well," Josie stuttered, snagging her balance, "That depends on what brings you here."

Rhodri had been speaking to the Keeper, but he turned back, intrigued by Josephine's impudence. Was he always such a twat?

The Keeper shooed the others away with her staff so she would stand before the might of the Inquisition. It'd have looked a pathetic sight, a woman barely over five feet and weathered from time and life in the forest facing against the mass of us, but she still had that same unbendable will that shaped the world to her whims.

"Word reached us that you conquered your Tevinter foe."

"Ancient magister," I mumbled. She side eyed me, either for interrupting her, or mumbling. Scoldings came about for both growing up.

"Ah," Josie said, grinning, "you came to celebrate. Wonderful!"

"No," the Keeper said, "we came to bring our child home."

To be continued...


	11. Moment of Choice pt 2

I tried to leave my clan alone to settle themselves in the first available space Josie scrounged up. But every moment I attempted to go, the Keeper found one more minor question for me, one more small problem for me to solve. It was Blackwall of all people who rescued me. Wandering out of his barn, he eyed up the aravel and waved me towards him, awe in that patch of skin between hair. The Keeper supervised the men unpacking a set of tents for those who wouldn't sleep inside the ship, while Eria carted around her far too massive axe trying to find a hunk of wood to whack in twain.

Blackwall didn't even have a chance to ask me a question before she spotted him and shrieked, "Sweet Andruil! There's a badger on his face!"

"Wha?" Blackwall staggered back, shaking his head about as if there must be some other man with a face gnawing badger behind him. Unfortunately, the movement only encouraged Eria's twisted belief and she ran full bore towards him, still clutching her axe. I used the confusion to slip away, though I did pause to make certain no one was seriously injured.

It was Varric I found first, sitting at one of the tables just inside the great hall. He swirled a stein in contemplation. "That's a hell of a thing, eh?"

"Where are the others?" I asked, ignoring his question.

He jerked his head back, "Where do you think?"

I nodded curtly, stepping away, but an idea pulled me back. "Varric, the rumors about this could be detrimental. So..."

Chuckling, he sloshed down his mug and propped a foot up on the chair across, "Boss, you really think anything I can spin will top one of those elf forest ships rolling through Skyhold and threatening to run off with you?"

"I suppose not." This was a disaster no matter what I did. Nodding once more to the dwarf who seemed in no rush to catch his ship now, I trudged through the streams of doors to get to the war room. Why did we need so many of these damn things and insist on always keeping them shut?

While lifting the iron pull upon the door the full weight of the situation caught my chin harder than any shield bash could. What was I going to do? What did I want to do? I'd entertained the idea of returning home through every step of this journey, some days the ache growing almost impossible to bear. When someone grew cross eyed at my dropping an elvish word into conversations, or my still waning table skills sent a snail fork skittering across the floor I dreamed of sailing through the forest in my old aravel. What state was the poor thing even in after so much time? Assuming no small animals chewed through the floor, I could easily patch it up and...

Return to being another hunter in the clan. Was that why I did all this? Just to return to the past? My head collided with the door, softly pushing it inward to revealed the hushed voices of two disturbed advisors. The last remained silent.

"How do we mitigate this?" Leliana asked.

"We can't," Josephine cut back, the worry amplifying her accent and rolling her vowels.

"There must be some solution," Leliana continued.

"This is what we get for propping her up as the face of this institution. Nobles throw their support behind her first and foremost, not us. She's built up the alliances."

"Josie," Leliana scolded, reminding the ambassador to not discount her massive role.

"If we lose her, if she goes back to the Dalish - her clan, we'd probably lose the mages first. There aren't many left in the hold now, but being able to call on the college as a possibility was a boon for other pockets of rebels. Fiona wouldn't trust anyone else's word. She's made as much clear often."

"That doesn't spell the end of the Inquisition," Leliana argued back. I pressed deeper into the door, the carving molding to my cheek.

"It is a rain drop to portend a typhoon. Ferelden is certain to renounce any warm ties. The alliance is shaky enough after Redcliffe, and the crown was not assisted as greatly as Orlais and her civil war. Once one country withdraws support the others will too."

"And we'd just begun inroads with Rivain," Leliana cursed, bringing up her own hard work while everyone was still working off a Corypheus hangover.

"That will not happen," Josie cut in. Scratchings filled out her words as she no doubt etched her plan down while speaking it, "The few templars we have will most likely remain as they have nowhere to go while the chantry rebuilds, but I am uncertain of the other soldiers. Cullen?"

I pressed deeper into the wood to try and hear him. His whispered words fell to the floor compared to the spymaster's bickering tone and the ambassador's commanding one. "I don't know how many would continue to follow if we lost support, especially those from Ferelden. Many come from there and probably wish to return home."

"This is my fault," Leliana said. "Why didn't we see this coming?"

A silence filled the air before Josephine said, "I don't believe any of us wanted to think of it."

"We built all this upon an unknown, an unknown I supported," Leliana cursed, that support of hers fading fast in the face of me no longer dancing to their tune. "Contact Cassandra."

"I've already drawn up one letter, but it's doubtful she'll be able to arrive soon. Her duties could take months, perhaps half a year."

My fingers slipped away from the unfriendly cold of the latch as I sank down to the floor. Like a child, I scooped my legs close to me, hugging them tight. It felt a lifetime ago that I ran out of that room and straight into the snows of the mountains, vowing to never return. To never serve under the shemlans. And all that time they'd been building upon me. If I left and I returned to be with my people, it would shatter the Inquisition after its first steady steps.

Cullen's voice rose above a whisper, anger raw inside his words, "Then we choose a new Inquisitor and forge ahead."

"Commander," Josie said.

"I'm aware it wouldn't be easy, but it is a solution, one better than sitting around waiting for everything to die beneath us. We stopped Corypheus, saved the world, to see it all end now would..." his words faded back to that whisper, "wouldn't be fair."

"Our first step, then, is to contain any rumors before they get off the mountain," Josie said. "As far as everyone is concerned we still have an Inquisitor."

I staggered to my feet, wiping off the dust, and finally pushed open the door. Josephine and Leliana whipped their heads towards me, trying to gauge how much I must have heard. Cullen stood alone, staring out the window. Still, Josephine covered for him by saying my name. I watched his head drop but he didn't turn.

"The aravel is secured for now, though I'm certain they'll need supplies. We don't do well on snowy mountains," I said trying to shrug it off like a joke, but they reared back at my use of 'we.'

"I see," Leliana said. "Is there anything else your people will require?"

Cullen threw back his hands from the window and finally turned around, but he didn't raise his head. Instead, he stomped towards the door, only muttering, "I should check on my men." Winds colder than anything the Frostbacks could manage followed in his wake. I tried to turn to him, but he slipped out, slamming the door behind.

"This has been an interesting and exciting morning," Josephine said, always the diplomat. "My lady, I don't want to push the issue, but what are your plans."

Just an hour earlier I'd been skipping around the hold, anticipating long nights and longer days wrapped up in the arms of a man. A shemlan. It didn't bother me then; not even a trickle of guilt when I'd have to rewind my speech and translate elvish words for him, or I'd remind him that the carving of a god he held was not Ghilinilian. But now, with my clan yards instead of countries away, a dark hole chewed through my innards.

"I can't answer that yet," I said truthfully.

"I understand, it is a big decision and..." her sentence trailed off as she turned to Leliana. Always the big sister was our spymaster, taking Josie under her wing and keeping her safe. The two ganged up on Cullen like he was their baby brother, but in the caring familial way. There were some meetings I'd walk in to find them pages into a discussion about nothing important. I'd never thought of myself as a part of that close banter, but now the family seemed broken. One of its own threatening to leave and strike out on her own.

"Well," Leliana said, breaking the silence, "I'm afraid you'll have to find a new hobby, Josie."

"Leliana!" she cried back, a blush clawing up her cheeks. "Stop!"

Embarrassment grew thicker than elfroot and I had to prod, if only to find something to distract me. "What hobby?"

"Oh, it's nothing Inquisitor, a small way to pass the time," she rubbed up and down her forearm while failing to lie and ended with a giggle. I watched her, waiting for an explanation.

Leliana shook her head, "She was planning your wedding."

"I was not!" Josie shouted, then mumbled to her chest, "I was planning many people's weddings including yours. It's a good way to test ones skills of how well you know the current fashions and trends in each land as well as any cultural significance of..." her words trailed off at the look I gave her. Josie turned and glared at the spymaster, "I hate you."

Leliana chuckled, "No you don't."

"What did you have down for me?" I asked, curiosity driving me to ignore the bronto in the room.

"Oh, well, it's nothing set in stone by any means," she flipped up her papers and thumbed through a pink sheet at the bottom. "I was thinking a dress of silk brocade for you. With an inquisition blade forged just for the day, in everite of course. It seems to be your favorite. The ceremony would take place in Skyhold, in the gardens to limit the number of guests as I fear the amount that would wish to observe could overwhelm us. At twilight, when the sun skirts just over the horizon to illuminate the lattice in our gazebo, setting the air aflame with the light's reflections off the pale yellow leaves. Furs from a snowy white lynx would dot the Commander's shoulders and he'd...um, he'd-" Josie covered over her little fantasy, and smoothed down the papers on top. "It was just an idea."

"Is that how most human bonding rituals go?" I asked. "With dresses, and guests, and sunlit gazebos?"

"Not all," Josie said, a glimmer of her ego poking through. She put in a lot of work on that fantasy of hers. "How does a Dalish wedding work?"

"We don't really have ceremonies, not like that. There's one for the vallaslin, for taking your place in the clan, for birth, and for death, but..." I struggled to find an explanation for the two most refined women I'd ever called friends. "Like, I'm a hunter. So to prove my merit to someone I'd venture out and kill a beast, then present it to whomever I was interested in. There's a bit later with using the hide to make a shield or leather if you choose to commemorate and because it's common sense, but the accepting more or less seals the deal.

"If you were a craftsman you'd make something useful like a pot, or a bow, or repair his aravel. A First would probably compose some convoluted ballad comparing her blue eyes to the fall of the dales."

Josie nodded, smiling at my people's traditions as if they were quaint little things people stuck in the woods got up to. We didn't need to have massive ceremonies to announce our intentions to love this one person. It was a small clan, most knew before the beloved even did, and offering to help with the proposal.

Josephine jotted a few lines on her papers then asked, "And what would Commander Cullen's proposal be? His position?"

I turned away, blinking against a pain behind my eyes, "He wouldn't have one in the clan."

"Oh, well, I..." her awkward words trailed off.

I needed to find him before everything grew beyond approach. Leliana stared through me, as if I had some control over my clan's plans and the Keeper herself. Somehow that crafty little dalish elf pulled one over on the spymaster and plotted to bring an entire aravel to Skyhold without anyone the wiser! Ah ha! Take that people I entrusted my life with. This is how we give gratitude. Creators only knew what Cullen was thinking. Barely bothering with an excuse me, I stumbled out of the war room. Let them work through a solution. Between the two of them they could probably shift the entire focus of the Inquisition without anyone making a peep. Invade Antiva and put Josephine on the throne as both King and Queen? Sure, why not. We can pull it off right after lunch.

Despite Skyhold offering a myriad of hiding places, most employed by that strange man with the endless questions and eye searing garb, I knew where I'd find Cullen. All the doors to his hideaway were closed, not even a soldier shuffled out rubbing his neck from a mountain of orders. Never a good sign. Silence pervaded Skyhold; the birds themselves seemed to be holding their breath waiting to see what would happen next. I thought about knocking, but the threat of his refusal stuck to my core. Instead, I cracked the door open, those traitorous hinges whining to announce me.

He stood beside his bookcase, one of the thinner tomes open in his hands. To anyone passing, it'd appear as if the Commander was merely doing a bit of reading, but I could see the furrow between his shoulders, a clench building in the back of his jaw, and the tight curl of a fist trying to follow the same sentence.

I stepped in and spoke the first daft words to drift to my mind, "It's a good thing the breach is closed or we'd probably have a rage demon clawing through the veil in here and...this isn't really helping, is it."

Cullen glanced towards me, his eyes shrouded. He wore the same mask some mornings, waking in a pool of sweat refusing to speak of what cracked into his skull and haunted him but needing me to be there. Not to tell him it would be all right, but that I was real and I wasn't some demon trick about to vanish in thin air. I couldn't heal him, but I could help. And now...

Instead of snapping the book closed he returned to it, butchering the spine further. I wasn't about to be ignored so easily.

"I had no idea the Keeper would pop up like that. I should have known she'd do something for attention, but taking an aravel across a sea and up the mountains without sending a letter, it's..." still he wouldn't turn to face me, his scar crawling upward in a sneer. "Cullen, please talk to me."

"You didn't refuse her," he said, his hollow words stinging deep. He was right, I didn't call her out. I stammered, and I obfuscated, and I pushed it away, but I didn't tell her no.

"I've faced down Grey Wardens, Magistars, an Empress, made split second decisions that could shape the world," I said, wrapping my arms around myself. "But this is my mother."

He snapped the book closed, sliding it back onto the messy pile of the bookshelf. Unable to face me, he leaned into the bookcase and asked, "What do you intend to do?"

"Don't you mean 'what do I want?'"

Finally, broken amber eyes turned to me. The same heartbreak when he thought he wasn't strong enough to overcome the lyrium burned inside him. "I'm scared of what the answer is."

"Cullen..." I stepped towards him - wanting to hold him - but he moved back, for the first time throwing a barrier up between us.

"I told you the truth before, when..." his eyes wandered over his desk. "I'd wanted to be a templar, but after what that life cost me I needed something, anything to fix what I did. But the Inquisition is something other than atonement, it's..." He whipped around, that eternal simmering anger rolling over his sorrow, "That night was not some farce, a ploy to...I didn't want to lose you."

"By all the- I love you. That hasn't changed."

He shook his head, "That isn't what's in question. Do you want to be with me, stay with me?"

And there it was. The easy answer was yes. This morning I'd have laughed at his even asking it again and needing that reassurance I wasn't going to slip through a floorboard. I hadn't thought about returning, not really. How would the clan take me after so much time away? With this magic ripping apart my hand? How could I leave him?

A but hung so evident in the air, it was a wonder Sera didn't doodle all over it. They were my people, my family. The ones who'd taught me, needed me, loved me...

"Cullen," I squeaked as pathetic as a lady's pet nug. Instead of shriveling away from the Herald of Andraste's blubbering, he opened up his arms. I took not a second thought to fall into them, burrowing my head into his shoulders. To think at one point I considered a mouthful of fur off putting. Calm enveloped me as he closed his hands, locking my chest to his. Through the cracks in his armor, I felt his body below, the warmth lightly trembling. Serenity may be impossible to find out there where responsibility reigned, but what if I remained here for all eternity? I know a couple Tevinter mages that could probably make it happen. No decision necessary. Problem solved.

A sob rolled with a laugh at my absurd idea, and Cullen squeezed tighter; perhaps he had the same dream. But duty would always be there. It was the unwelcome relative stopping by during a hunt and sniping your kill just before the final blow.

"This hasn't solved a thing," he said, his head resting upon mine.

"I know."

"I don't want to lose you," he caressed my arms so softly the touch was barely evident through my leathers. "But..." Cullen swallowed down the emotion in his sentence, then continued, "I won't impede you if you must go."

His frail words shattered my own meager resolve. I twisted my arms free from his hold. He released me willingly, a pang of confusion and pain crossing his face, but I caressed his cheek and rose on my toes for a kiss. I don't know why I paused a breath from his, my thumb wiping at a minor tear dribbling down his cheek. He could walk away now, it might be easiest in the end. Creators, I hadn't been strong enough before. Even when he asked me to tell him what I planned for the future, I passed it off back to him. "As if you have to ask." Yes, he did, and I knew it, but I didn't want to admit it.

He scooped me closer, his lips plunging onto mine. My finger migrated up to those curls, wadding them around while my tongue did a bit of exploring on its own. Always the gentler soul, he caressed the back of his hand across my cheek, coolness evaporating with the tears I didn't realized I wept. Melting deeper into him, Cullen's hand climbed higher, digging through my own scattered hair when he paused. His fingers hung over the pointy tips of my ears. That damn reason we could never work. He stepped away, but I slid my hand behind his, holding it tight. I don't know what promise I made, but those shattered and reforged eyes burned into me, accepting it.

Clomping noises outside the door caught our attention. We broke apart, racing to find composure. Varric's voice screamed out behind the still closed door, "And sometimes our INQUISITOR needs to visit with the COMMANDER to CHECK on the state of the TROOPS!"

The dwarf threw open the door and gave a thumbs up at our state of not entanglement. Behind him a surly voice mumbled, "You need not shout, durgen'len. I can hear you, not that I care."

"Well, ain't you a ray of sunshine," Varric muttered before glancing at the pair of us still sliding apart. "Ah, here we are, the Inquisitor, just like you demanded."

Rhodri stepped into the threshold, his trademark cowl back in place. Only the reedy nose and flash of long auburn braid poked out of the mounds of green fabric. Within the shadows of the forest it worked for him, but in the bright confines of Skyhold he looked ridiculous.

"Sweet creators," Rhodri cried. "Lethallan, I've been searching all over this..." he pirouetted his hand in thought, "ruin for you."

I felt Cullen clench his fist at the descriptor. "What do you need?" I asked, trying to head off a fight before it broke out.

"The clan is hungry. I assumed you knew some good hunting patterns for the area, unless you forgot all your skills during your time here."

"Skyhold would be more than happy to supply the five of you with food. I'm certain Josephine is working on a banquet right now," I said.

"I think she's got some of those magenta birds from the Arbor Wilds all fried up with the feathers stuffed back up their assess," Varric said, "Very fancy."

But Rhodri scoffed, "I would sooner starve than accept a shemlan handout. We put our trust in them, our reliance, and we might as well slap on the chains ourselves."

"I've been eating their food for over a year," I scowled. He was always pretentious, but I hadn't heard this conservative rhetoric from the man before. Rhodri was more of the 'I'm going to pull off this really amazing kill one day that'll somehow win our people land and I'll be a great hero' pomp. Perhaps my own rise in the echelons cut deeper than I expected.

He smiled below that hood, a shimmer of white in the shadows, "And you worked for it, yes? Doing their dirty work, as elves always do. But I will not be beholden to this whatever it is."

I slipped my hands behind me so I could claw at Cullen's desk to keep from screaming that his very being here took up Inquisition resources. The halla dined upon our hay, they rested in our grass safe behind our walls. But why bother. There was no changing a tusk's spots.

"Fine," I said, "I'll take you hunting myself."

"I will accompany you," Cullen said. I twisted away from the desk, but he didn't look at me. He was far too focused on that cocky Dalish elf adjusting the belt crossing his chest. Oh for all the, when did he start wearing that? It made him look like an absolute twat.

"A shemlan hunting with the Dalish? That should prove most interesting, assuming you can keep up," Rhodri said, tipping his head towards Cullen's knees.

"I'll do my best," Cullen bit back.

"I think I'll come as well," Varric said, rubbing his hands.

"Are you serious, Varric? Hunting involves outdoors and walking in the outdoors. I thought you hated that stuff," at this point I wanted everyone to stop volunteering to come along. The sooner I got Rhodri some small mountain ram and drug the carcass back to the clan, the quicker I could try and find a solution to all this.

But the storyteller shrugged, "A chance to hunt with the fabled Dalish - that isn't just picking marigolds out of the Viscount's garden. Who could turn that down? Think of the research. I could add some real depth to that Dalish elf and secret human prince serial I've got started."

Rhodri struck a pose, an honest to Elgernon pose, in the doorway. Some days I could understand why so many other elves couldn't stand us. "Well, Lethallan, before we lose the light," he said, smug thick in his throat.

I glanced towards Cullen, the man I trusted to lead thousands of people to battle and himself rip through abominations by the dozens but I'd never seen take down so much as a nug. He fiddled with his scabbard, tightening the loops as if that would cut down on the noise a full set of armor stomping through the snow would create.

"Fine," I gave in, "let's go hunting."

To Be Continued...


	12. Moment of Choice pt 3

Silence, colder than that first morning step from bed to stone floor, dampened the air around me. Twists of snow rolled atop the never ending drifts. My coat snagged in a blast of frigid air, tossing the hem back dramatically and tightening the knot upon my neck. I yanked it down, along with the bow strung across my shoulder. Rhodri sniffed again, his head even more burrowed inside the cloak's hood. He'd snorted the air every few meters away from Skyhold before pointing in a random direction, as if elves could smell a ram over top the snow instead of spotting the obvious footprints. Even Cullen picked up on the prints scampering where the ram pawed through the endless snows for a scrap of untouched tree bark, then doubled back down the mountain. Varric chuckled at Rhodri's act, unimpressed by the fellow charlatan.

Rhodri twisted to me, always an arm's length away, "We are more likely to spook the prey in such a number."

I didn't know what he really wanted dragging me out in the woods for a 'hunt,' but he was right about this. "Tip the arrow," I agreed, getting a nod from him. "With a half start of the fletching to envelop."

Those blue vitriol eyes tried to crack through my armor, "A wise plan. It seems you haven't forgotten all your skills."

I snorted at that, "As if I wasn't the one to teach you how to thread the shaft." I directed my voice behind me, "Right, that should work or is it too great a distance for you two?"

"Um," Varric's wobbling voice echoed through the imposing cliffs. We both turned back to watch the dwarf struggling with snow rising past his thighs. Cullen marched beside him, fighting a battle against his armor weighing him deeper into the flimsy ground than either lightly clad elf. At least the fur on his shoulders should keep him warm. Even my overcoat wasn't enough; my skin burning below the thin leather.

"Not that I want to complain or anything," Varric said slowly lifting his legs high to try and stomp down upon snow waist high. "Been a great trip freezing every bit of me off in the snow so far, but what the shit were you two talking about?"

"I'm sorry." More than the burn of the wind lit up my cheeks. I forgot I was 'talking elfy' again. "It's an old hunting pattern. Rhodri and I will scout ahead, trying to flank the ram, while you two take up the rear to scare it towards us."

"Why not have one of us come with you?" Cullen asked me. The cold brought a brighter blush to his cheeks than anything I could manage, but his lips hung down, pale from the pressure. He'd worn a queer look from the moment we set out. I'd seen the Commander in almost every emotional stage imaginable, from heartbreak and sorrow to joy and another kind of joy not to mention in polite company. But now, with his breath puffing through his nose, and his eyes drawing a line across Rhodri I wondered if this wasn't the first I'd seen of jealousy.

He was left to trail behind with the grumbling dwarf while I flitted lightly through the snow, speaking in code with one of the elves who came to whisk me away. The tint of green was not without merit. I stammered, stepping towards him to answer his question, but, in a rare move, Rhodri spoke directly to him.

"Your mass would drag us down, spoiling the snow and obliterating any tracks we might need to follow."

"Excuse me?" Cullen shot back.

But Rhodri only sighed emphatically, spinning away as if he had no more reason to speak to the shemlan. I glared at him, but had to admit the truth, "It's the jangle of the armor...your heavier breathing would serve better to push the ram towards us. We'll hunt out an outcropping to try and line up a shot, then signal you to drive it towards the spot."

"Why didn't you say that before?" Cullen said, a pout trembling in his bottom lip. He hated being out here. Then again, in his past life when going hunting the prey were mages.

"I..." It wasn't something simple to explain. The tongue slipped back so easily to me, not just speaking elvhen but sharing the shorthand commands, old references, and half formed thoughts as speech. Not even conversing with another dalish was the same as working with a member of your old hunting party. It was like slipping on an old glove, perhaps one I'd outgrown, but with a nostalgic fit.

Struggling to come up with an explanation, it was Rhodri who spun around to tell him, "She already did." Cullen's teeth ground so loud, the noise carried above the crying winds.

"You're gonna head all the way up there?" Varric asked, patting Bianca and pointing her towards the cliffs ringing above our heads. Creators only knew how the Marcher born dwarf could stand the unimpeded winds ruffling his chest hair. Did he ever button that thing?

"No, we have other resources," I said. Rhodri grinned from my careful words. "We will not be far. When we give the signal, drive the ram towards that hollow beside the stand of trees."

Varric patted the butt of Bianca a few more times, but accepted his fate of walking through more snow in the name of research. It was Cullen who fiddled with the hilt of his sword, the eyes burning a warmth deep inside me.

"Be careful," he said, that brown butter voice dropping to a whisper. I smiled imperceptibly, and closed my eyes. Cullen rose back up, his voice in full range, "Inquisitor." As if tacking that on was enough. But Rhodri either didn't catch on or did not care; he already moved towards the copse, parting the snows faster than before.

Shrugging once more to my men, I chased after him, still noting the ram tracks in the snow. A few steps behind me, I heard Varric scoff. "Did we just get left behind for being too fat?"

"I am not," Cullen said indignant.

"Are you sure about that, Curly? You seem to be licking up plates of those butter treats Ruffles gets for you."

I missed Cullen's response, his no doubt infuriated growl drifting away upon the wind. The mountain was in no mood to play nice today, the sun blanketed behind an angry nest of clouds, the wind howling through the rocks. It pierced up to a shattering whine the nearer we drew, my fingers working away from the warm wad of bear fur across my midsection up to my head to protect my ears. Rhodri was no better prepared for this, his proud stance stumbling in the shifting snow. His boots slipped upon the sheets of ice below, careening his face towards the ground. He pinwheeled his arms, trying to maintain a balance. It was a shame Varric missed it all. Still, letting ones hunting partner fall flat on their ass was poor manners, so I reached a hand out to anchor him. He grabbed tight, twisting to face me until his body slammed into my side. But I was moored to the ground, as unbendable as the mountain. Rhodri only lightly bounced against me.

In the manic paddling, his cowl slid off, revealing the green vallaslin etched across his forehead and down his cheeks. They radiated like a fade rift against the white pallor the cold pulled to his face. Perhaps that was why we stayed in forests and out of the snow. Hard to remain in camouflage when nature spotlighted your face for you.

Releasing my hand, he slicked back his hair and tried to compose himself by adjusting that stupid shoulder harness. "Not even a thank you?" I said.

His eyes tried to bore into mine, but I'd seen their tricks a hundred times before and thickened the callous to them. "Yes, thank you. Does this mean I am indebted to the Inquisition?"

"First one's free," I said.

"How quaint," he jerked his head towards the left where the snow indented near his own flailing. "Fresh tracks?"

Dropping to a squat, my thighs straining against the tug of the leather, I inspected the twist of the prints. To the right, the same jolly hop of the ram was still evident, though parts were obliterated by Rhodri's flailing. This was different, larger than the ram but partially covered, as if the animal crossed before the winds rose. But doubt nibbled at my mind. Why did that seem wrong?

"You did not speak to the Keeper." Rhodri's voice whipped back along with his cloak, posing in the wind.

I rose, patting the snow off my knees before it melted and then froze into ice. "She seemed busy at the moment and not in the mood."

He rolled his eyes towards me, "You know how she is."

"Yes," I left the 'better than you' unsaid, "which is why I didn't bother."

"You should have," Rhodri continued. He tested his footing in the snow, and - finding purchase - continued to trudge towards the trees. I followed behind, but my eyes kept drifting back through the snow. More of those odd tracks followed beside, buried in strange depths.

"Cariad's death, it..." his voice faded into the unforgiving embrace of the wind, "it stung the Keeper. It hit all of us, losing a first like that."

Is it possible for a heart to sneer? If so, mine did just that at his implications. Clearly you were too busy off in the south playing with your little human friends, and forgot your own brother's death. Here, let me remind you how you failed him. "I mourned him, I still do," I cursed, tramping through the snow, smashing my boot deep through the ice crust. "He was my brother."

"The Keeper thought you would return to us after she sent the note. Even if it was not to stay. But you must have been entertained with your life here..." he held his hand out, encircling the desolate mountaintop, "saving the world."

I wasn't about to tell him the truth, of how close I nearly came to doing just that. Of course, that was why she sent me the letter, in elvish so I'd be certain to read it, and as detached as the ones Josie sends in my name to faceless nobles. To remind me how quickly my place in the clan was dwindling. Every little pinprick was placed to manipulate me into running back to her. But I had a job to do here, and I don't regret the choice I made. In the Skyhold garden, a young vehnedal tree clings to the sparse ground growing stronger under constant care. I may have not been able to be there for my brother's burial, but I could still honor his memory.

"The Keeper needed you, it nearly broke her. If it weren't for that shemlan working with the red crystal monsters..."

I laughed at Rhodri's poor attempts to worm into my heart, "The Keeper never shows weakness, not even to her daughter."

But he paused in his climb and turned to me. An earnestness burned behind that icy glare, "Are you so certain of that?"

"I..." In the distance, a ram bleated against the wind closer than expected. "We should get to the trees."

"As you command, Inquisitor," he sneered, but still obeyed. Massive conifer trees were all that could find purchase upon the mountain tops, their lowest branches nearly six feet tall and skimming just above our heads. Needles clung to the edges but one could avoid them if you knew how to climb. I paused beside a thick tree swaying in the breeze and stared out across the small clearing. Mountains cut off the northwestern edge, the cliff's broken black rock poking free from the snows. There was no way it could escape through the north, the face too sheer for even a ram to climb. Surrounded by trees, the winds dampened down to a soft breeze. Even the sun broke free from its prison to cast a few disjointed rays upon the snow. Despite the picturesque scene, hairs rose upon the back of my neck. More of those odd tracks, even deeper buried than before, dotted the area.

"The ram sounds close," I said, another bleat blasting in the air, this time behind us. Either my men were doing their job, or the ram was as excited to be out here as I was.

"Up we get, or do you need help?" Rhodri asked.

I ignored his offered hand, there were somethings a Dalish never forgot. Shaking my fingers loose, I ran towards the tree, the momentum pushing my feet up the trunk until I could grab onto a lower branch. Muscles underused after a year out of the forest cried in agony but still obeyed my orders, lifting me higher into the trees. Every branch I climbed, I'd pause and wait for Rhodri to catch up. He may be a pain, but he still moved like water across flat stone, the strain of climbing invisible in his innate movements as he landed upon each branch. After checking his balance, he'd smile and encourage me to continue. "I bet you missed this," he said, the grin widening across his cheeks. Now, I realized why the Keeper sent him. Remind her of what she's capable of, of what she does for us. I bet my mother even chuckled to herself after saying it, so proud of her little machinations, as if I didn't deal with something ten times more devious when asking Vivienne to pass the salt.

But, he wasn't entirely wrong. Even with a burn shredding in my shoulders, a giddy thrill invigorated my skin with every lift of my body. This was what I trained to do since I was a child, not kill demons or decide the fates of nations. I was dalish; I climbed trees, I hunted game, and I loved it.

Midway up the tree, the winds returned, shaking our narrow foundation and cracking the withered branches. Needles rained down upon my head, stabbing what little exposed flesh, and stuffing into my hair. "I did not miss this part," I muttered. Rhodri rose beside me, his lips pulled tight. He wanted to commiserate but was under orders. This was supposed to be a magical hunt, the easy one where everything goes right and no one falls out of a tree.

We could easily climb higher, but the danger of slipping and snapping a neck grew with each branch further above the ground. He gripped onto a branch prodding off ours to steady himself and squatted beside me. "This should be high enough."

Picking my legs up, I inched off the branch towards the clearing. Little was visible beyond the white swirls of snow. Twisting to the south, I spotted a shadow in shades of tan, its head buried deep as it searched for food. Beyond that, two more waited less than patiently for the signal.

"They're in place," I said, rolling the bow off my shoulder. I reached for an arrow to test my aim, but Rhodri grabbed my fingers and slipped something inside them. Unable to turn around without smacking into him, I brought the arrow forward and noticed the familiar glint of ironbark. It was one of ours. Theirs.

Shaking off the thought as soon as it came, I notched the arrow, my legs dangling off either side of the branch. This wasn't the preferred position for archery if one was fighting in that fancy grand melee Blackwall went on about, but it kept the prey from panicking and leading to an hours long chase through the woods to finish the job.

Holding the bow to the side of the branch, I lined up a shot at a lone log in the middle of the clearing. Rhodri leaned closer, eyeing up my aim. His warm breath cracking the cold sent shivers up my neck, and he said, "I thought I should inform you, I'm with Eria now."

I loosed the arrow, my fingers sweeping back and up my ear. It stuck a few feet below the log, burrowing into the snow like a crazed shrew. Mentally adjusting for the wind, I reached for another arrow, this one specially designed by Dagna. A few breaths passed before I responded to Rhodri's need for attention, "Good for you. May you have many pretentious and neurotic children together."

My lack of a reaction flew over his inflated ego. "The Keeper wanted it to remain a secret for fear you may consider it another reason to not return, but in the interest of fairness..."

Scoffing, I slackened my draw and tried to look over my shoulder at the man pressed close to my back. "Please. I was the one who ended things. Many many years ago, I might add." The bowstring pressed deep against the side of my nose as I aimed towards the sky, the arrowhead humming with an energy only our arcanist understood. Releasing it, the arrow skimmed high above the skyline then burst into a flare of blue and green lights. It was certainly enough to catch the attention of Cullen and Varric, as well as anyone in Skyhold staring off the battlements.

Rhodri gripped onto my arm, steadying me as I brought my quiver into easier reach. "We both ended it, a mutual decision."

I rolled my eyes at his rewriting of history. Youthful indiscretion is a fancy way of saying I was a bloody moron. But I wised up, just as the Keeper began to not so subtly ask if I intended to bond with someone soon. Dissolutions tend to cause chaos in the clan, leading one or both in the relationship to leave, but Rhodri maintained his illusion that he had no more use for me and was content to hunt with a second group. I was happy to let him. Not that it didn't take him more than a month to start sniffing around other women at the meeting of the clans.

"They're moving," I said, pointing towards the advance of my people. A few cries drifted on the wind from them, most intelligible, but I swear I heard Cullen shout, "Move or I shall strike you down myself!" Whether it was the threat he saved for obstinate soldiers or the huffing from Varric, the ram twisted about, running right to our trap.

"I only wished to tell you," Rhodri continued, unable to let anything go, "so things would not grow more awkward."

Yanking out another arrow, I slipped my bow into place - first watching the ram's movements with my eye, then down the tip of the arrow. "Why would I care?"

The ram skittered in the snow, its breath streaming behind it. I spotted the flash of a blonde head waving his arms and giving chase. A few paces behind, the lower strawberry blonde head jumped up and down, waving his crossbow to threaten the animal. It wasn't the most well choreographed plan, but it drove the ram deeper into my sights. I trailed it, my eye sighting down the shaft and leaving a gap to adjust for the wind.

"As the Keeper's First, it'd be your job to teach our children."

"What?!" My grip slipped, the arrow flitting through the air. It bounced beside the ram's hooves, the animal glancing around confused from the kick of snow. Beside me, I heard Rhodri click his tongue at my miss as if he wasn't the cause. Sneering, I notched another arrow, aiming for the ram. In the distance, the sounds of Cullen and Varric still whooping it up drew closer, but I ignored it. I wasn't about to let the clan starve just because my mother thought she could throw my entire life out of balance at her whims.

My fingers dug tighter to the bow, twisting my arm downward. Eyeing down the shaft, I watched the ram sniffing towards the human and dwarf racing towards it. Just one step to the right. One more. Holding my breath, I rolled my shoulders back, and a massive paw smashed into the ram's skull. It shrieked, but the bear roared back - larger than a great bear, it's fur as white as the snow. How did we miss it? Rhodri whistled at the sight of the predator at work, bouncing the ram between its massive front arms and chomping down upon that no longer bleating throat.

Oh no! Still holding the arrow taut, I whipped to my right where Cullen and Varric were still running towards the now eviscerated ram and a massive bear. They'd never hear my warning in time. Turning back, I finally released the arrow. It wobbled in the wind, but stuck into the bear's flank. Screaming from the indignity, the bear rose up in rage then brought a massive paw down with such force the ram's skull shattered. Brains oozed across the bloody snow.

"We have to stop them!" I shouted, firing off another arrow to distract the bear. But Rhodri was already ahead of me, scaling down the tree with the speed of a Dalish elf. "Warn the others!" I called to him, pissing off the bear further. He launched off the last branch, his feet running as he hit the snow. But Rhodri didn't head south to bisect with Cullen and Varric, instead he headed north towards the raging bear.

"You...Fen'Harel ma halam!" I screamed at him, but Rhodri didn't even glance back at me. His eyes lusted for that pelt, a massive prize in the clan and a certain death for him. Damn it, all! Securing my bow across my shoulders, I gripped my fingers onto to the branch and slid my body off it. Before my brain had time to tell me how unwise this was, I let go. The fall lasted only a second before the lower branch caught me, but needles jammed up my backside. Summoning every curse I knew in elvhen, tevinter, and whatever Varric used, I repeated the move, working down the tree fast. Needles and branches shredded at my armor and flesh, while yanking knots of hair clean off my scalp. But that didn't slow me. I wasn't about to let some glory hound kill himself and my people.

Dangling a survivable distance off the ground, I said a prayer to the only god who might be listening. "Mythal, make this work." And dropped. My feet shattered to the ground, reverberating up my legs and through my pelvis, but nothing broke. For once, I didn't feel the frosty snow poking through my toes as I chased towards Cullen and Varric in the distance. Rage and equal parts fear burned inside me warmer than any fire could.

Varric's cheery voice called above the snow, "Think that was enough?"

"I have no idea," Cullen said. They moved with purpose towards the clearing, still eclipsed by a massive outcropping. Once they turned past it, it'd be a face full of bear. To my left, I caught the glint of Rhodri's daggers sliding out. He ran towards the bear, no plan in mind. The man thought if he simply believed in himself enough somehow it'd all work out. But the bears here were nothing like the ones in the north. We grew up chasing small ones that were more likely to run away than challenge you. Here, they'd knock your head off even as their intestines lay bleeding across the ground.

"Bear!" I screamed, waving my arms to get Cullen's attention. But he was absorbed in his own world, staring straight ahead.

Luckily, Varric caught my pathetic attempts and pointed towards me, drawing Cullen's gaze. Shock widened his eyes, probably from the needles still shedding off me as I ran towards them. "What's up, boss? Is dinner caught? I am not helping to drag that thing back," Varric called joyfully.

I whipped my head back and forth in rage and shouted, "There's a bear!"

That changed their stance. Cullen's half hearted fiddling switched to a tight grip, unsheathing his sword. "Where is it?" he called to me.

A stitch from falling out of the tree finally chewed its way through my side. My legs stumbled, smacking into the snow, but I kept from planting chin first into the ground. When I looked up, Cullen was racing towards me. I held my hand out to stop him. "No time," I said, kneading my side, "Rhodri's with the bear."

"Is he trying to kill himself?" Varric asked, sliding back the winch on Bianca and slotting in his bolts. At least they weren't unprepared now.

"Inquisitor?" Cullen asked, the overwhelming concern in his voice making the use of my title pointless.

"I'm good. Come on, we have to save him," I shouted, unsheathing my own daggers. Cullen nodded, any animosity with the dalish buried when there was danger in the air. Slipping his shield in place, he jumped ahead of Varric, both of them running towards the bear.

I staggered for a moment in the snow, working off more than the knot in my side, when the bear's roar shattered the cold air, kicking snow off the treetops. Summoning up the last of my energy, I rose up to pursue Rhodri. "I will never hear the end of it from the Keeper if I get someone killed on a hunting trip."

As I rounded the turn, the last to the fight, I was surprised to find Rhodri still in one piece. He was handling himself well, keeping out of reach of the bear's paws, and working cuts along the flank. Varric shouted something pithy I couldn't hear through the pounding in my ears, and unleashed the torrent of Bianca upon it. The bear turned away from the meal digging into its flesh to roar at the snack now pelting it in the face. Cullen used that moment to, of all things, smash the bear in the nose with his shield. Blessed creators, we need to have a talk later about how to deal with wildlife.

The move seemed to confuse the bear as much as me. It staggered back, the back foot slipping on the uneven ground and dragging the entire mass down. "Yes!" Rhodri cried, "We almost have her!"

Cullen growled, but swung his sword wide, enraging the bear but not doing much damage. He was too busy avoiding her paw swatting at the menace in her face, while Rhodri and Varric continued to chip away.

On a breath, the western winds shifted and a smell filled my nose. A familiar scent of oil and tanned flesh that did not belong on snowy mountaintops, or near bear caves. Of course, the tracks! How could I have missed it?

"Rhodri!" I screamed, trying to get his attention, but he only glanced at me for a moment. His eyes were all for the bear, he couldn't see the air shifting behind him.

I threw my daggers to the ground and yanked up my bow. There wasn't time to properly aim, not even to find a stance. Running on nerves, I notched an arrow, and loosed it right behind Rhodri's shoulder. He ducked, twisting to glare at me, but the scream of pain drew his attention back as a man appeared seemingly from nowhere. His blood dribbled from the arrow wound across the white camouflage, exposing him. Rhodri turned, but not quick enough. Even with an arrow sticking out of his chest, the man drove a dagger into Rhodri.

I began to pull back the bowstring, when that leather scent returned and a warmth radiated from behind me. Without thinking, I drove my elbow back, connecting with something hard, and spun around. Only the man's eyes were exposed out of the white leathers; a cold steel glared upon me, the sword in his hand glinting harder. I ignored them both and yanked my bow across his face. The carved horns slit across his eyes, and he stumbled back. Before he could recover, I kicked him in the knee, downing him to the ground. His sword slipped from fingers trying to stem the blood welling out of his eyes. The blade faded into the snow. Not that he'd have a chance to find it.

Slipping an arrow into the groove, I yanked my arm back to a full draw and planted an Inquisition arrow through his fingers, his eye, and right into the brain. He toppled over, instantly dead.

"Ah shit," Varric shouted beside me, "We got assassins too?! Curly!"

I kicked into the snow, hunting for my daggers and watching the air. Cullen bashed the bear once more in the nose, throwing his weight into it, and rolled off her.

"Varric, protect Rhodri!" I shouted. The assassin stood over the elf, trying to work the barbed arrow through his shoulder. My heart paused at the pile at his feet, but then Rhodri tried to scramble away, his blood staining the ground. Chuckling, honest to Mythal chuckling, the assassin snapped off the shaft of the arrow and tossed it to the side. He reached down and grabbed Rhodri's shoulder, my clansman's screams piercing the air. The assassin rolled his hand back to dislodge a hidden blade and was so focused on his task he missed an ex-templar flying through the air towards him.

Cullen's shield and most of his body shattered into the assassin, both of them tumbling back into the snow. No longer held captive, Rhodri collapsed back to the ground. I began to race towards him, when the snows shifted.

"Varric?"

"Curly's handling that pretty well," he commented on my earlier command, which was accurate. The assassin was no match for the man pummeling him from above. Cullen took the conservative path of striking out only when his prey exhausted itself banging against an impenetrable shield.

"There are more assassins!" I shouted, pointing towards the east. As the beams of sunlight broke through the clouds, their forms faded into view. Three more stalking towards us.

"Today keeps getting better and better," Varric said. "Bianca says hello!" He unleashed the full power of her upon them, causing the assassin's to dodge and weave. But we forgot the other variable in this epic clusterfuck.

Now that no one was smashing in her nose, or digging into her sides, the bear focused on the snack that'd fired upon her face and was currently distracted. I reached behind to my quiver, but my fingers came back empty. Shit!

There was only one option now. Tossing my bow to my right hand, I aimed my left towards the sky and concentrated. Like shredding open an unpleasant package, I willed the veil to part, dragging open a rift just above the assassin's heads. Blasts of hot air burst across the snow as the green tear parted in the sky. Fade energy yanked at the men, dragging pieces of flesh off their bones and yanking them back in place. By the time they figured out what was happening, it was too late - the assassin's each fell to their knees while the rift picked their skeletons clean.

Only the bear jumped to the side, twisting away from the bite of fade energy. She turned around and raced back to her cave, a small drip of blood following her from both Rhodri and the fade chewing into her sides. The rift I caused popped back to the fade, the veil reasserting itself. Rhodri! I ran towards my fellow Dalish, still face first in the snow.

Flipping him over, I got the reassuring sounds of coughing and incoherent cursing. "Blessed creators," I muttered, dropping down. Blood oozed from a wound in his side. Yanking off my scarf, I matted it up and pushed it into his wound, my fingers burning from the blood's heat. "Rhodri's hurt but alive. Cullen?" I turned, watching him bash his shield against the first assassin's skull.

"Almost done," he said.

"Keep that one alive for questioning," I ordered. His drawn elbow shifted, ready to strike the killing blow. But he twisted his arm back and gave one last smash to the assassin's face with the hilt of his sword. The man dropped to the ground, unable to move.

Varric prodded the still smoking skeletons, "Andraste's ass, I hate it when you do that. It's so fucking creepy."

"Do we know who they are?" I asked. Cullen placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance. I wanted to reach up and return it, but I was too busy trying to stem Rhodri's blood.

The eternal opportunist, Varric kicked over the one I'd shot through the eye and dug into his pockets. "Nope, nope, nope, ah, here we go!" He unearthed a slip of paper and held it to the light, "Looks like Antivans."

"Wonderful, just what we needed," I sighed. "Is a giant going to fall from the sky next?" Perhaps it was the exhaustion catching up with me, but I turned to Cullen and moaned, "He needs medical attention."

He nodded and passed me his shield. Like a parent picking up a sleeping child, Cullen hoisted Rhodri in his arms. "Let's go quickly," he said and set off towards Skyhold.

I glanced back at the only living captive and rolled my shoulders. "We both grab a foot and drag him?" I suggested to Varric.

The dwarf sighed, but followed suit. We made it nearly a hundred feet from the clearing before he cheerfully said, "We failed to kill a ram but at least we got a crow to make up for it."

TO BE CONTINUED...


	13. Moment of Choice pt 4

"Will he live?"

The surgeon nodded, then turned to a spirit healer washing her fingers, an elven mage with a streak of red hair braided down her back and the sides shaved. I couldn't place her, our ranks still swelling even after closing the breach for good. She hovered over Rhodri, her fingers waving a breath above his too pale vallaslin.

His leathers were shredded and scattered to the stone as my people worked tirelessly to revive him. Candlelight sputtered against the limp chest chewing through ragged breaths, crimson flecks of blood cascading like paint off his shoulder. I didn't say a word, watching both human and elf massage powders into his wound to finally stop the blood, slap a hardening poultice across it, and dribble some wine into Rhodri's paling lips. Someone else grabbed up the Crow Varric and I drug, re-knocked unconscious, then deposited at the gate. Leliana and I were going to have words about that.

"He will require rest," the elven mage said, her eyes focusing back upon me from whatever spirit guided her gifts. "But should recover in time."

"This is a mess," I sighed. My Inquisitor stance broke as the problem shifted from possibly losing a member of my clan to now having to deal with one nearly killed on my watch. Cullen touched my arm, trying to offer his support without crossing a line. His armor was soaked with Rhodri's blood, crimson pooling inside the grooves of the rivets and blooming like a vengeful rose on the drapery above his hip.

"Someone should inform his...your...the other elves," Cullen said. He crinkled his nose, the jowls of his cheeks rising in disgust as he staggered around the proper way to describe the clan. I nodded my head, having practiced the lines for how I'd explain this since we left the clearing. So, Eria, Rhodri told me you two were an item and then nearly got himself killed by assassins my people missed. Oops. It was about to go over as well as Sera's chamberpot helmet.

My fingers ran across his chest, smudging up the sticky blood, leaving an imprint of myself in the viscera. "I should speak with Leliana first, and the prisoner."

"Maker," Cullen muttered, massaging the back of his neck, "Crows here? How did we miss that?" I pursed my lips and glanced away, focusing on the pokers still blazing red hot in the fireplace. I had theories burrowing in the back of my mind about that, but he paid me no heed. He was too focused on solving the problem the only way he knew how. "I'll double up patrols cast further off the roads, and we should increase the night shift upon the battlements. They're more likely to notice unexplainable campfires. And perhaps a retinue to follow you when you're passing though..."

"Cullen," I interrupted his stream, "that isn't necessary."

"Assassins got to our door. Near our door. If they'd taken you..."

"They didn't, I'm fine."

His eyes blazed at me, each speck of gold emphasizing the words tumbling behind them. IT'S NOT FINE! But he didn't challenge my authority, not here, though I knew I was certain to get a mindful back in the war room. The thought of him drawing up a plan to barricade our fortress in the mountains while fiddling with his sword like a ten year old child slapping on his father's weapons brought a smile to my lips. Cullen blinked from my change in spirits, confusion crackling into something darker.

I reached to him caressing his face despite the audience a breath away. His eyes rose from the sulk to greet mine. He cupped my hand with his, the smooth leather of the gloves above my fingers contrasting with the prickling scruff on his cheek. "Perhaps I am overstepping my bounds, Inquisitor," he said, the words sliced jagged, "You may not require my services soon." His eyes shut tight with that proclamation, my own heart shattering along with his.

With one hand still pinned to his cheek, I reached my other under his arm, pulling so close his nose bounced against my forehead. The contact drew his attention to me, those amber eyes cracking from more than demons roiling though his memories.

Rising onto my toes, I pressed my forehead into his and whispered, "Ar lath ma."

Cullen shuddered, all our problems wrapped up in that one phrase, but he whispered back, "I love you, too."

"Where is he? You cannot hide one of our own from us?!" My mother's words echoed from the doorway, the teetering wood slammed open with enough force to behead a demon. Cullen's hand dropped away, embarrassment wafting in his wake. Perhaps it was stubbornness or exhaustion, but I clung a moment longer. I didn't want to let go.

"Keeper," I said, alone turning to face my mother. She had a tight grip on Eria, who kept a terrified vigil upon the ceiling as if the rocks were about to crumble on top of her.

My mother paused before me, her staff sparking purple puffs of smoke from the end. It always did that when she was angry. "Word swirls in your hold that something happened out on the snows."

I drew back, exposing Rhodri lying across the bed. "There was an incident," I began, but Eria shrieked and barreled past both of us. For a slip of a thing, she could shatter mountains when having half a mind. Falling to her knees, she picked up Rhodri's slack but very much living hand and covered it in kisses. Cullen inched away from the overt display, shrugging his shoulders in discomfort as emotion warped the air.

My mother gasped at one of her own tattered and broken. She whispered something familiar under her breath, then glared at my shrinking commander, "This is the fault of your Inquisition!"

I intercepted her, "He would not have been involved if you hadn't come here!"

Her sneer barely broke from Cullen but she did shift to me, "This is a discussion for another place, away from the bed of the wounded."

"Fine." It was not an articulate response, but my mother yanked me to the end of my rope and then cut the line. I'd start slamming aravel doors if one was near.

The Keeper pushed me aside with her staff, Cullen gave her a wide berth himself, but I stubbornly remained in place. The bottom of her stick whacked into my shins, reviving a tear of pain I'd forgotten about in the scuffle. I staggered away, blinking from the burn, but she only nodded at me as if I was bowing in deference. Folding her hands, the Keeper edged away both of the healers and placed her own hands across Rhodri's head.

She soothed his forehead while Eria babbled at his hand. The theatrics, while impressive, seemed wasted on the man who nearly got not only himself but the rest of us killed for his own ego. I clicked my fingers against my arm, biting down the accusations rising in my throat. Enumerating them would do nothing, my mother would downplay my words and Eria would blame it on jealousy. Only Cullen caught the sneer curdling my lips, the snap of my unshod toes. He began to reach out to me, but I shook my head no. Turning on my heel, I marched towards the door of our infirmary.

"Where are you going, Inquisitor?" he asked, twisting his head to indicate the dalish problems swarming over the bed.

I pitied the two healers who now had to deal with that mess, but if I didn't get out of that room soon it'd be more than just Rhodri lying across a bed. Cracking open the latch I sneered, "I'm off to see a nightingale about a crow."

Leaning back from the edge of the watery abyss, I eyed up the man piled in a cell. Black and purple bruises burned across his exposed flesh, as if he caught himself in a magical fire. Blood yet dribbled down his nose, a knotted rag stuffed up the nostril to curtail it. He favored his right arm, his wrist dangling in a disturbing angle. And yet, the man was smiling. Bloodied, beaten, and caged, he wore the grin of someone on top of the world. I'd be more enraged if it didn't throw me off kilter every time I spotted it.

Leliana, draped in her shadows, ran a finger down a report. She'd been quietly reading it since I entered, our jailor nowhere to be seen. This was the spymaster's show. The pounding falls of water below thudded with my rising heartbeat as I waited for her to speak. Finally, she looked towards me and said, "He is an assassin."

"So I gathered when he and his friends tried to assassinate me," I said, not hiding the anger in my voice.

She peered up from below her drawn hood, but didn't rise to my emotion, "It is never wise to jump to conclusions. But Varric's assumptions were correct, this man was under contract from the Antivan Crows."

"Is," he interrupted, then spat at the ground, blood curdling the dirt. "Forgive the mess," he apologized, as if a little spittle would bother me more than an attempt on my life.

"Is?" I repeated back, "Someone's rather sure of themselves."

He shrugged, "You've done well, though it doesn't alter the state of the contract."

Moving with a speed that terrified so many Venatori, I slid to the bars to confront the ennui prisoner, yanking him by his filthy grey leathers until his face smashed into iron, but Leliana chuckled. "I'm afraid your information is out of date." She picked up one of the many papers in her watch and passed it over me to the prisoner. He tried to read it with one swollen eye shut, his finger marking the spot.

I flipped around to her, silently asking for an explanation. "We came to an arrangement to remove this contract months ago. Your employer...realized his mistake and paid the renunciation fee."

"Well," the Crow sighed, rolling up the missive and passing it back through the bars, "I fear I have egg on my face." He turned to me and shrugged like this was all some small misunderstanding, "The dangers of working so far from home. They never bother to keep us informed. You know, I nearly missed the last coronation due to clerical error."

"I'm sure that's a real blow," I muttered, the sarcasm thick enough to spackle the walls, but he chuckled.

"It truly is. What's a visit to Antiva City without an opportunity to slide a dagger though a new ruler's kidneys?"

Leliana tipped her head, accepting this madness as commonplace, and bundled up her secret scrolls. I reached out, gripping them and not about to let go. Those blue eyes burned at my insolence. I growled, "You knew assassins were trying to kill me?"

"Of course, I am your spymaster," she said, still holding tight to her letters, not about to let me see her secrets.

"And you did not think to inform me?" anger tinged with a growing headache behind my ears and exhaustion dumped pure rage into my words. A raw state that I shouldn't expose to a dangerous prisoner, but I was tired of playing the game. Tired of pretending to be some mighty power shaking Thedas to its core. Every second was a play, every breath calculated, every decision decided before I dressed for the morning. Was I ever just me anymore? Even as a man I grew up with, cared for, lay bleeding, I still worried how others saw me - kept my mood neutral, and it came as naturally as breathing. Could I even turn it off?

Leliana scoffed at me, her eyes dancing back to the Crow still joyfully listening to us bicker, "We assumed the matter dealt with as soon as it crossed our desk. You were nearing your final attack against Corypheus when we learned of it, and thought to solve it quickly and quietly. Then time slipped away."

"Did you know assassins were on the mountain?" I pressed, a burn growing in my gut.

She squared her shoulders and nodded, "There were a few conflicting reports. Since you were scheduled to visit the chateau with the Commander, I did not think to bother you with them. I am sorry."

"Does, did Cullen know about this?"

"No," Leliana shook her head. A vice grip released from my heart, the burn dissipating and grateful for being wrong. I could stand much, but that level of deceit...and how can I even think him capable of that? It wasn't even his idea in the first place to vacation, but mine. Creators, I'm losing whatever grip I had.

The prisoner rattled his fingers across the bars, drawing my attention, "This Commander, he wouldn't be the man who took me down by any chance?"

"What of it?" I asked, my hackles rising from the inherent threat.

"No harm meant," he said, that cocky smile in place, "just wanted to applaud your taste."

"He nearly killed you. He would have killed you!" I shook my head, exhausted from the lack of sense.

"A strong arm is certainly an asset in these matters," he said.

Despite my anger, I twisted to Leliana and asked, "Are all Crows this mad?"

"Based upon the ones I've met, yes," she chuckled.

"Not to be too much of a bother..." the assassin continued.

"No, I will not introduce you to the Commander," I cut in, my brain reflexing back to numerous trips to Val Royeaux.

"A pity, but that was not to be my question. I am curious what you intend to do with me. For curiosity's sake. I have a small investment in my own future, as it were."

Earlier, I'd have ordered my spymaster to get all the information out of him she could, then finish what Cullen began. But the point seemed futile now. It was all some minor misunderstanding. A misplaced letter, an undotted I. So sorry about that, at least only a few people were killed. In this game of queens and emperors, countries and power, the pawns slipped through the cracks on the board. "I haven't decided," I told him.

"Well, when you do I'd appreciate you telling me. Waiting for death can be rather dull," he quipped.

Waving Leliana to follow, I stepped away from the cell overlooking a cliff dive. On the other side of the massive fall, with the pounding falls drowning our words, it was unlikely for the Crow to overhear us. "That isn't the only contract on my head, is it?"

"Was, Inquisitor. That one was handled."

I glared, "You know what I mean."

She twisted away, her piercing eyes facing the healed sky and not me, "There are others, yes."

"How many?"

"Six."

"Six? Andruil's bow, and you didn't tell me because..."

Leliana whipped back to me, "I'd thought it would not be an issue. Within the walls of Skyhold, my people could keep watch."

"Except I was nearly killed a hundred feet outside the door," I said, waving my hand towards the uncaring mountain.

"I missed something, I am sorry." For a moment a sweetness shimmered below her impenetrable words, the regret of her failing real. But she snapped it shut, burrowing it in a box. "It may be of no consequence if you intend to leave your position and return with your people. I can offer you advice, but the network would break down that far afield."

The choice dangled above my head, reverberating like a flag caught twisting in the wind. But I was tired of people trying to drag me by the hand. They did it once before, chains shackled to my wrists, then by threats against all of thedas. No more. I would decide of my own volition, no one else's. Gritting my teeth I said, "Those contracts are against the Inquisitor. If I am no longer the Inquisitor, then..."

Leliana shook her head, "Four are, but the last two are against you by name. Most are minor houses, nobles rattling against the choice for Orlais' throne, but one is from an order claiming to be the true Templars of Thedas. They call for your head for not only unleashing mages unimpeded upon the world, but the mark on your hand. It is unlikely they would back down even if you disappeared into the woods."

I sagged from her trump card, stumbling into the bars of the empty cell behind me. She spoke not with joy, but a soft sorrow, as if she didn't like it anymore than I did. Leliana continued, "It is a small order for now, fanatics, but without the pressing breach to keep people loyal to us, it could grow to a danger."

"Stay, or go, either way assassins are coming for me?" I summed up, shaking my head.

Leliana tipped her head, "There are pros and cons to either choice, I'm afraid." I tried to pierce through that cold shell, expecting to find more calculations running under our mistress of birds, but she seemed genuinely upset at this entire ordeal.

"Excuse me!" the Crow's voice echoed through the stone. "Will I be given a meal? I only ask because I fear the best I can handle in this state is soup."

"What should I do with him?" Leliana sighed.

I rose to my feet and moved to wipe my face. My hand hung inches from my eyes as a crimson sheen reflected my own broken face. Rhodri's blood - coating my glove - taunted me. It was my fault, even if it wasn't. I was still Inquisitor, every decision ended with me. "Do whatever you want. Kill him, release him, put him to use. He is beyond my concern," I said, stepping towards the door.

"Inquisitor," Leliana said, bowing her head, her sapphire eyes snapping to him.

I paused at the door and whispered, "For now."

To Be Continued...


	14. Moment of Choice pt 5

Fires blazed beside the lone aravel, its roof creaking in the mountain winds as the sail whipped forlorn in this alien world. Moldan prodded one pyre to coax a few flames free, then shifted to the second, while a few humans watched from the sidelines. One of the merchants folded up her shop while holding a solitary watchful eye on the jolly dalish elf. I shuddered from the glare no one would dare turn upon me anymore, but Moldan wiped it away like a spiderweb. He kept three small sticks jammed in his mouth, and yanked out two to call to me, " _Lethallan_!" The third stick garbled his words, but it seemed important it remain trapped below his tongue.

I stepped into the light of the fire, the warmth failing to reach my face. Moldan glanced up at me, then passed over one of the sticks. I accepted it but sighed. The tinder match, enchanted to strike in any weather, was highly unnecessary. But Moldan waved me towards the final pile of logs. "You already have two fires, what do you need a third for?" I asked.

"Thought Rhodri'd bring back something worth eating, and if not, Eria was scheming up an idea for forging."

"Well ,neither are here now," I said, folding my arms and tapping the end of the match against my shoulder.

"Ain't no reason to not be prepared," Moldan said, then waved me towards the logs. Reason ran scarce today, but arguing with the man was about as wise as trusting Rhodri to not accidentally shoot you in the back. Moldan had tented the final logs inside one of our few traveling pits. I fished out a piece of bark, shredded from one of the paper trees native to the north, and snapped the end of the match off. Fire, in the purple hues of magic, jumped from the stick to the kindling. Watching it take for a moment, I breathed upon the bark, then dropped it below the logs.

"Figured I couldn't do it anymore?" I asked, rising as the first of the logs burst into the oranges of fire.

Moldan chuckled, "Course not, who forgets how to light a fire? Just didn't feel like doing it myself."

I shook my head at the poor lie, but was in no mood to challenge it, "As you say."

That was apparently even funnier, the old story teller whacking his knee from such a laugh. "This has been a thing and then some. Whoever thought _da_ _'_ _assan_ would grow up to wear the big britches with shemlan, ordering 'em around on high like some king of theirs?"

"I — you know that's not how this works."

Moldan's right milky eye rolled to me, "Aye, wanted to make sure you did too."

"Subtle," I sighed. A snap echoed from inside the aravel, as if someone cracked apart a small corner of the veil to harness just enough power to warm a teapot. My brother called it a waste of magic even as he did it himself. For a moment my hand throbbed from the energy draw, the anchor skipping a beat from the fade back to this world, but it faded back to sleep.

Moldan glanced from the sound back to me, "Been in to speak with your _mamae_ , yet?"

"I don't have a mother," I repeated the old mantra, as bitter as ever, "I have a Keeper. We all have a Keeper."

"Sure, sure, should still go and talk to her."

My hand wandered up behind my neck, trying to rub away the worry building behind it, but I froze, a blush rising as I realized where I picked up the habit. Moldan busied himself with his prodding stick, mashing the logs into the pit to kick out higher flames. Summoning a strength I didn't need to face down the ancient magister, I stepped towards the Keeper's aravel.

Before my fist could bang against the door, Moldan spoke, "For what it's worth, _Lethallan_ , the clan did miss you."

"I don't know if that helps or not," I spoke plainly. Moldan only chuckled at my pronouncement and returned to his stirring. Rapping twice upon the door, my mother's commanding tone ordered whoever was beating upon her landship to get inside. Turning the handle carved out of shed halla horn, I slipped open the door.

Smells of the fade hit me square in the jaw, the aroma like rotten meat struck by lightning. The anchor crackled to life before I realized it wasn't a rift; the Keeper was casting one of her more elaborate spells. She stood beside a churning fire of her own, this one contained inside a glass cylinder blazing with sparkling purples and greens. One of many rituals she only shared with my brother.

I waited for her to finish, watching as her sleeves dusted the waning countertop, her knotted fingers dropping a wad of grass into her conjuration. Whatever it was supposed to do either failed or worked as the purple light zapped away to leave behind a charred black husk in the glass.

Finally, she turned to me, wiping her hands across a towel. " _Emm_ _'_ _asha_ , at last you come to speak with me."

I laughed at her choice of words, "It's been a long day."

"Yes," her eyes narrowed and she drew out a knife with a slice of blood across the blade. Whether a threat, reminder, or something she forgot to clean the message failed to reach me. "Rhodri shall not be able to safely travel for a time."

"Here it comes."

But the Keeper chuckled, a disconcerting one, "I know that man, perhaps better than you."

"Creators, I hope not," I muttered under my breath.

She ignored my aside, "He's arrogant, but he's one of ours. You're still one of ours."

"Is that why you're here, then? To claim your property?"

The Keeper moved closer to me, but I threw my arms up across my chest, stopping any attempts on her part. "You're my child. I would never leave you behind."

"Ha, 'your child.' I ceased being that the moment you stopped being First. You were rather insistent upon it, in fact. 'Congratulations, you have something greater than a mother. You have a Keeper now,'" I repeated the words burned into my brain. At eleven years old, I lost my mother not to disease or blade, but promotion. She couldn't afford to show favoritism, not when so many in the clan depended upon her. So, I was banded about to a few of the other couples, or left to my own devices to find my path. I was never certain if my brother was lucky to have magical talents or not. She could obsess over him, needing to train him in not only magic, but the ways of the people. I was free to roam the forest, skinned knees and chipped teeth, knowing there was no one to soothe the scrapes upon my return.

I don't know what I expected from her. Perhaps a confession, an airing of her sins, begging for forgiveness. Even a moment of empathy, to admit that she worried what I'd face so far from home alone from all I'd known, a path she set me upon. Instead, I got a clucking of her tongue as she eyed me up and down in my Inquisition attire and said, "You no longer speak the people's tongue. Have you forgotten?"

" _Garas quenathra?!_ " I sneered, needing to hear her say the truth.

She rocked back at the explosion of elvhen, as if I hadn't explored deeper into our people's history than she could ever dream. Some days fell right on top of it. "I am here for you," the Keeper said, cocking her head, "as I already said."

"I know why you're here. but I don't know what you're up to. Rhodri said you want me to be your First."

Anger snarled across the Keeper's face. "That man can never follow direction."

"Tell me about it. I hope someone's warned Eria."

The snarl wavered for a moment, as if I could draw a laugh from the Keeper, but she bit it down. Folding her arms across her stomach she said, "It is true, da'len."

"That's impossible, Keeper. No, insane. I can't be your First. I don't have any magic." My manic words grew in volume as if shouting could somehow jog her memory. She knew this, she knew the rules better than anyone else here.

I expected her to glare at me, to place her finger to her lips or insist I use my inside voice, but she deflated. Her forehead slid down her face, pocking the flesh below her eyes and dragging out the bags. I watched my proud and vengeful Keeper dissolve into a scared, old woman. The transformation caught in my throat.

"The loss of my…First cut us all deep," her breath shuddered for a moment, but she continued. "We are rudderless without him, without a secure line the clan could fall to chaos. What am I supposed to do?" she asked, her eyes watering.

"There was your second, shouldn't he be first now?"

My mother glared at me, "You know Koldo. Would you entrust him with anything more dangerous than a wooden sword?"

"Even with a wooden sword there's a chance he'll accidentally slice a limb off, somehow." It seemed a cruel curse that some elves touched by magic presented every risk to the clan from demons but couldn't summon even a simple fireball for protection. At the time, no one thought much of Koldo becoming the Second. Cariad showed not just promise in spell casting, but in lore and philosophy, and everyone bloody loved him. The only one more beloved and befriended in the clan was the procurer of balms after we all learned what poison ditchweed looked like.

The Keeper snatched up her staff from its position leaning against the casting table, "This is about more than Koldo's precarious position as First. You may not have been born with magic, but it has found you now."

"What do you speak of?" I asked.

She reached out and pulled open my left hand, uncurling my fingers. "You wrote to me, told me yourself that this is not only of elven design, but a magic from the time of Arlathan. A true piece of elven history embedded in my daughter's hand. No one would argue that that does not give you the rights of First and eventual Keeper."

"You don't understand what this does, what it is," I tried to close my fingers, but she kept them extended, her grip tighter than I remembered.

"Hush, da'len!" the Keeper snapped. "I know more of the lore than you do. I've read the volumes discovered from before the fall of the Dales, spoken to other Keepers who visited ancient ruins, translated forgotten runes etched in —"

"You don't know a thing!" I screamed. The anchor split for a moment in my rage, green light spilling forth. My mother reared back, sensing the fade energy pouring off it. But I snapped my fingers closed, silencing it quickly.

"Don't you dare speak out of turn," she said, a familiar phrase I'd heard growing up, but there was a wariness in her eyes. The mighty Keeper never expected the anchor to hold so much power.

A chuckle rumbled in my throat, soft and only shaking my shoulders. At her pinched look, it grew in strength until I had to reach out to steady myself. With the anchor, I wiped away the bitter joke tearing my eye. "We were wrong, mother. Everything we thought, everything we spoke. It's all wrong."

"What are you…you're incomprehensible," she said, withering from me, but I wasn't about to let this go. I hadn't intended to tell my clan the truth, they wouldn't accept it. Not easily. And in some ways, the truth seemed crueler. To hold ourselves up as the eternal victims for our whole lives only to have it crushed with a single sentence? I'd heard it, seen it with my own eyes but some days even I hardly believed it.

"The elves weren't destroyed by Tevinter, we did it to ourselves."

"That's not possible. How can you know that?" the Keeper scolded me, passing her staff back and forth in her hands.

"Because, I spoke to Mythal." And there it was, the trump card I'd been hiding behind my back ever since first meeting the spirit of a god. My mother could shake off the temple, claim they were flat ears or another crazed Dalish clan lying, but this was something else entirely.

She reached to her forehead to touch the markings of the mother goddess. "I do not understand."

"That's a first," I muttered.

"The gods were all locked away, tricked by the Dread Wolf. How can you speak to one? How can…" she sagged against the counter, using it to steady her body. I faltered and reached out to help, but she waved me away, staring out the window towards Moldan and his fires. After a beat she said, "Do you have proof?"

"If you're asking if I'm sure, yes, I am. The Inquisition is still excavating the temple of Mythal."

The Keeper shuddered, either from the idea of shemlans clawing over our people's history, or that such a place existed without her knowing of it. "Have you told the others? Do they know that…why did she abandon us? Not answer our prayers?"

I reached out, touching my mother's shoulder, "I don't know, she wouldn't give an answer. The gods are…not what we thought. It's all—" I sighed, my own religious crisis still teetering on a ledge. One day it would tip or right itself, but for now it dangled, waiting for a push. "No one in the clan knows. No other dalish either. Only the Inquisition."

She gripped my fingers for a moment, summoning up a strength from them, then rose, her back rigid, "Good, it is an issue that will have to rise within other clans. Be debated and discussed."

Watered down, buried, forgotten so we can keep telling the same lies. I knew exactly how it'd go, which was why I kept the truth to myself. Just hearing about the fall of Arlathan, about elves warring with each other would send the clans into a tizzy. Mythal being in the body of human, even one known to us as the woman of many years, would be utter chaos.

"Regardless," my mother said, drawing my attention back to her, "I require you. The clan requires your services."

I snorted, "I doubt the walls of Wycome provide ample opportunity for many hunters."

A pang shook my mother and for the first time she spoke frankly, " _Da_ _'_ _len_ , I don't know the first thing about running a city. We did not intend it to be permanent, just to assist with saving the flat ears and then moving on. But after so many shemlan were lost, and control was passed to us, it seemed unwise to abandon the opportunity."

"It's been months since you claimed Wycome," I said, "Don't you have a council?"

"I know about aravel repair, halla training, procuring ingredients for poultices. But now all I get are questions regarding taxes, road maintenance. And something called crop rotation is vitally important, apparently. One of us hasn't planted a seed since the fall of the Dales! I am at my wits end with the shemlan merchant," my mother crumbled, folding her face into her hands.

I snickered, remembering my own early days struggling through the first decisions, each choice seeming to come with three consequences. "You will endure. It's what the Dalish do best."

"We will if you come back, become the…oh, what do they call it? Viscount? Princess? Whatever the term is, the position is perfect for you, _emm_ _'_ _asha_. Lead the city."

"What?" I stumbled back. "How, I, why would I?"

"You've led this entire Inquisition from nothing," my mother said, for the first time showing an ounce of respect for it.

"I had help."

"And we will be behind you, as will your old colleagues from this place, I'm certain. All of us working together to build and mold the first true Dalish city to something spectacular."

There it was. It had nothing to do with my becoming First, that was a lie she spun to Rhodri - either to explain her plan or to distract him. She didn't even care about rescuing her daughter from the dirty shemlans that held her prisoner. All she wanted was my power trapped beneathe her grasp, just like that spell she cast inside the glass jar. I'd be the puppet on the throne, while my mother yanked upon the strings.

"What reason could I possibly give to…I can provide far greater assistance here as the Inquisitor."

Hope drained from my mother's eye as she realized I wasn't like the others in the clan. I didn't greedily yearn to build something great for our people, to make a name for myself. I already had. She'd have to try another tactic. "I did not want to believe the rumors, people can speak such horrid and silly lies."

I blinked, shaking my head to find sense from her change in subject, "What rumors?"

"Your soldiers, the ones you sent to help secure the city. They liked to speak of you, how you were getting on, your victories in the south, and your fascination with a commanding officer."

Blood drained from my face, my mouth falling slack. She couldn't be serious…

"Of course, the clan knew it was idle gossip. How could one of ours, the Keeper's child no less, take up with a shemlan?" her eyes bore through my skull, dissecting my brain.

"I don't know what you think you know…"

" _Da_ _'_ _len_ ," my mother said, then patted my cheek as if I was a child caught fighting in the mud just needing a bit of discipline and guidance, "you were never a subtle child. A dalliance far from home is forgivable, but to use it as an excuse to avoid your duty…"

My hand swung up fast, snagging her wrist and yanking it away from me, "So, it's to be blackmail then."

She sighed, unimpressed with my response, "Airs are tense amongst the clan. Many do not like our remaining in the city, they think it's abandoning tradition. Why do you think I brought Rhodri with me?" My eyes flickered out to the campfires, and she read the dark thoughts across my face. Snickering, she said, "What? To torture you with reminders of the past? I am not so cruel. No, I needed to keep a watch upon him. He speaks of plans to rally the clan, to return to the forests and relinquish our first foothold. Tradition is his standard barer, the death of our First his weapon. He is unable to see the opportunities before us. This may have been born out of necessity, but we could turn Wycome into a future for our children. A true home for the Dalish."

"I-" I stepped back, releasing her wrist.

She snaked it under her sleeve and dipped her head, "I've given you much to think upon, and I'm certain you shall come to the proper decision. That clan still loves you, _da_ _'_ _len_. Never forget that."

Unable to summon a response, I cracked open the door, stumbling down the stairs to escape. My mother condescendingly called out, " _Dareth shiral_."

Only the call of the lone owl nesting in the upper echelons of Skyhold kept me company— the solitude of night blanketing out all distractions save the thoughts tormenting me. I kicked my feet against my bed, rubbing my hands up and down my thighs repeatedly as if that would pop an answer into my exhausted brain. My bed — to think, less than a year ago I was horrified of the thing and would often strip off the blanket to sleep on the floor. I feared growing soft to it, abandoning my heritage and turning flat ear from a night in the soft embrace of a mattress. In reality, it slipped grain by grain through my fingers, every decision pulling me further from the people — even if the choices were something I wanted. I glanced to my closet where a pair of slippers tumbled free, golden threads to mimic my own tattoos embroidered upon the tips. A gift from Leliana, who was shocked at my lack of footwear.

Closing my eyes, I thudded back upon the bed, my legs rising up to my chest as I hugged them tight. What my mother said gnawed at every nerve in my body. She was as wrong as ever, but so infuriatingly right in her wrongness. An opportunity to lead the first Dalish settlement since we lost the Dales… How could anyone turn that down? But did I want it? How was trading one future as a leader for another any better? I dug my fingers into my shins, clawing against the leather boots.

Soft coughing cracked open my eyes, and I sat up to find Cullen standing at the landing. Exhaustion tempered his brow, or perhaps something worse — the circles under his eyes heavy with shadows. He glanced towards me, and lifted a shoulder, "I wondered if you didn't wish to talk."

Releasing my grip on my legs, I sat up and nodded. "I think I would."

He rose up the stairs, then paused, adjusting his gait beneath himself. It was a small gesture, one most people wouldn't notice, but I picked up on his need to favor the left leg, putting almost all his weight on the right.

"Are you okay?" I asked, sitting up higher and moving to help. "How bad is it?"

He raised a hand, and continued working towards me, "I'm enduring."

"Cullen…"

"My leg's burning. A bit too much today with the bear, the assassin, and…" he left the last part dangling in the air, not wanting to voice the effect my own life had upon his.

I patted the bed beside me, scooting over. He didn't argue, the pain biting deeper than he'd voice, as he crashed beside me. Some days he may not even show signs of lyrium withdrawal, dashing about Skyhold, then others he'd need to spend the day behind his desk, taking it easy under Inquisitor orders. With Corypheus gone I thought he might finally have that chance to rest, not have a thousand worries dangling upon his head. But I had to go and shatter his world apart without thinking.

"Are you all right?" he asked, turning to me.

It was the smallest gesture, but my resolve crumbled, dragging my face with it. Cullen broke as well, shock at causing me pain cracking his weary features. My face thudded into his shoulder, the fur cushioning my fall, and he rocked to the side from the force. Softly, he threaded his fingers through my hair, combing the ends and laying each unknotted section back behind my ear.

"That bad?" he whispered, his voice light but solid.

I grumbled into him, mashing deeper into the fur. Maybe if I kept burrowing I could disappear forever. His fingers stopped and settled upon my shoulder. I leaned up facing down his own exhausted eyes and something twanged inside me. All the worry, the pain, even the tinge of fear winnowed down to anger.

"Oh no, everything's perfect. I've just got a spymaster with a stack of assassin contracts for my head, a political advisor trying to marry me off, and a mother forcing me hand to lead her city. You'd think those last two should be switched around."

"What assassin contracts? I thought Leliana took care of— Hold a moment. Marriage?" Cullen glanced around the room, as if expecting someone to pop out and declare the whole day had been a massive prank. Not even Sera was that cruel.

But I was too wound up to answer him. Hopping off the bed, I paced back and forth just out of his reach, needing to vent. "Do you know what she did? Why she came here? The Keeper wants me to take over in Wycome. Thinks she can pass me off as her First because of this damn anchor."

I twisted back to him, expecting to see the same look of shock I wore when my mother told me but his eyes were hooded, his lips pulled tight. "That is a sound strategy."

The soft words nearly sent me spinning in shock. Shaking my head, I said, "You can't be serious."

He caught my wandering hand, the left marked with the magic of my people, and tugged to hold me in place. "I don't want you to, I mean if you were thinking of. For your Keeper, given the Dalish lack of governing it is understandable why someone with little…" His eyes slipped closed, and he pinched his nose.

I gripped his fingers, folding my hand into his. The small gesture was enough to revive him, a whisper of a smile flitting across his face. Leaning closer to him, I cupped his cheek, running my thumb across his whiskers, longer than usual and curling upward. "I haven't decided anything."

He nodded his head, then turned up to me, "But you will need to soon."

Sighing, I released my hold on him and continued pacing. "What would you do?"

"I'm not much of an impartial party here," he said, getting a moments chuckle from me. "If I wanted to enact real change, I'd remain where the greatest power is, with the Inquisition. Where I can do the most good."

Such a simple answer, and exactly the reason I opened my heart to him. Even as he stumbled and fell, he still rose anew each day striving to bring more into the world, to make it better. To fix something wrong. But that wasn't everything for me, to spend every moment of my life devoted to saving the world would hollow me. Leave behind nothing of what I once was, but the husk.

"I miss it." My eyes screwed tight, I let slip the truth buried deep in my heart. "Running in the woods, bathing in streams, telling undead stories around the fires. It was so much a part of my life, to trade it for an endless parade of soirées, conclaves, and kissing up to nobles…I, I can't picture myself doing this for the rest of my life."

Silence hung in the air, heavy with tension. Slowly, I opened one eye, then the other. Cullen's hung head didn't look up at me, but he whispered, "I doubt I could either."

"But, what the Keeper's offering isn't a return to the old. It's more of the same here yet on a smaller scale. I wouldn't meet with empresses or dukes, but merchants and guard captains. When this began, I thought I'd close the breach, do my part and leave the rest in the hands of whoever wanted to take over. Return home, pick up my bow, and hunt deer for the clan still traveling through the woods."

"And now?" Cullen asked.

I flared my fingers out, the anchor crackling awake, "This marks me, probably forever. As long as I have it, I'm a target. A danger to those around me from fanatics, assassins, and anyone else with half a mind to challenge the woman who closed the breach."

So many flinched when I broke out the mark, but Cullen only slid his fingers below mine, his thumb caressing my palm. "The Inquisition would not abandon you if you stepped down." I heard the words he dare not speak. Even if I left, trundled back to the Free Marches alone to serve my clan, he'd still do everything in his power to keep me safe. Creators, that stung deeper.

"It isn't just what's good for my people, or Thedas," I said, sitting beside him. Picking up his arm, I leaned my head across his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths against my own. After a few heartbeats they matched in rhythm. "You're a part of my decision too."

"I didn't want to presume," he said cautiously. But his fingers gripped tighter into my arm, pulling me closer.

"Leaving you would…" Would what? In all the day's travails I never once thought what that would mean. To not have that reason to fight harder than I thought possible, knowing I needed to return to him. No longer knowing that when all of Thedas was throwing me against the wall, one man was certain to stand at my side. "Blessed creators," I mumbled into his chest, "this would be so much easier if you were an elf."

Cullen enveloped me, bringing his other arm around to my side. His chin dug into the top of my head, the pressure a welcomed pain. "I have given it some thought, and if your heart was set on returning to Wycome, to your clan, I could go with."

I broke from his hug to stare up into those eyes, so willing to sacrifice for my sake, my happiness. "I wish you could."

He blinked, "I don't understand."

His arms fell slack from my body as I folded my hands together as if in prayer. Hunched over, I melded my fingers against my lips and whispered into them. "I thought you knew, or, no, I should have told you. It would have been fair, better before, long before I…Even if you came to Wycome, even if you found peace and stability serving beside the clan, we could no longer be together."

"I understand the dalish hesitation around humans, but…"

"It isn't, it's so much more complicated than…If I'm with you, if I have children with you, they will be human. Their blood might be half elven but they'd look human, be human in the eyes of the clan. They'd never be accepted. Most dalish who dally with humans are shunned on principle alone."

"Oh," he sat back, staring ahead through the windows overlooking the balcony. Josie worked tirelessly to find a glassmaker who could etch branches in them to remind me of home. "I didn't think about, didn't realize…"

"It's why human-elf relationships are looked upon in such disdain." I paused rethinking the truth of the world, "One of the reasons. In exchange for one pairing, an entire line is snuffed out. No more elven children, our blood washed away. We lose even more of us to an already uncaring world."

Cullen reached over to me, stumbling to find a touchstone. I caught his hand in my own and kissed it. A silly gesture more than a few Orlesians tried on me before I'd flare the anchor and send then scurrying away, but he gulped at the contact. "I don't want to hurt you," he said.

"It's not your fault I fell in love with a human," I said, then smiled, "though you could be a bit less handsome."

He shook his head, "No, I mean while I was in the infirmary with your Keeper and the others, the way they glared at me, I suspect that they overheard…"

"Yes," I interrupted, "she knows about us. Knew before even arriving. Soldiers and loose lips," I said, rising back.

"Wouldn't that cause you to be removed from your people? Wait, which soldiers were gossiping?"

I chose to ignore the last part as I had no idea, though I suspected he'd get to the bottom soon enough, "She needs me, and there's nothing my mother loves more than a good redemption story."

"I see," he said. Our conversation lulled to an uneasy silence, only the hooting of that owl punctuating the air. After a time he turned to me and asked, "I suppose, the real question it comes down to is what do you want?"

"When I was younger, I'd spend days by myself exploring the forest, following old paths, trodding in forgotten ponds, stumbling through broken rocks that were once part of walls or fortresses long claimed by vines."

"All right?" he asked, confused where my mind went.

"One time, when I was sixteen I think, I was chasing a small rabbit. Not very seriously, a half hearted practice. I lined up a shot and the leafy ground gave out below me, sent me tumbling nearly twenty feet onto a stone floor. Broke my ankle, and I had no way to climb back out. There was no choice but to explore the ruins to find an escape. For a week, I dug out caved in sections, drank water dribbling off the stones, found a nest of nugs for food. By the time I finally got out the clan grew worried and sent someone to find me. Even in pain, my ankle tied to my dagger, dehydration setting in, it was a time I look back on and smile about."

"Why are you telling me this?"

I shrugged, the hazy memories of my misspent youth slipping away, "I can never return to that. Everything's changed, for good or ill."

Cullen pulled me to him, planting a kiss on the top of my head. He may not have understood my story, but he captured why I needed to tell it. Hugging me tight once more, he released me and rose from the bed. My questioning eyes followed him, "You have much to decide. I should leave you be for the night."

"Cullen, you're exhausted and in pain. A long walk back isn't helpful for either of those. Stay," I grabbed his hand.

He closed his eyes, his thumb rubbing over mine, but then he shook his head, "I should not persuade your decision. And after the day I don't think, I'm not in shape to…"

I rolled my eyes and said, "You know, you can use beds for just sleeping. Or so Josephine kept insisting after she caught me using the mattress stuffing to cushion armor."

"I don't remember this," Cullen said, shaking his head.

"Back in Haven, she was probably more embarrassed than I was at the time and covered it up." Still clinging tightly to him, my voice dropped, "Please, stay. I doubt I could fall asleep alone."

He sighed, and returned towards me. I shifted aside, giving him room to fall onto the bed. He worked off his boots first, then slowly dropped each piece of armor to a familiar pile beside his side. I took the time to dampen down the lamps, leaving only the embers in the fireplace to cast a whisper of light upon us. Sliding under the blankets, my fingers danced across the warm muscles of his back. Cullen twisted onto his side to face me, and I turned around, cupping against him. His arm at first fell slack beside me, as his breathing slowed to a soft gurgle of sleep sounds. But after a moment, he clutched my stomach, pulling me tight to him.

In the dark thicker than any forgotten ruin, he whispered into my ear, "I don't want to think every moment with you might be the last."

I wrapped my arms around his, always strong and unwavering, "Nor do I."


	15. Moment of Choice pt 6

"I will not listen to you! You have no hold here...Leave me!"

Cullen's whimpers shattered the black air beside my ear. Normally, I'd sleep through most of them; a lifetime in the forest taught me when to wake from a twig crack and when to slumber through an aravel crash. But I'd lain awake most of the night, trying to not roll enough to wake him while I watched the silvery moonlight shift through the open balcony. Every time I tried to not think of my mother, the anchor, the assassins, or the decision weighing upon my heart all my mind could dig up was an old story Cassandra told us. It was early in the Inquisition days, before she came to trust me with more than a bow to fend off demons, while Varric and Solas - both strangers then - huddled beside a fire listening to the night cries of nature.

Cassandra screwed up her shoulders as if she'd been planning this for sometime. With her signature curt tone, she announced to the silent camp, "I am reminded of a tale. There was a scorpion that needed to cross a river, only it could not swim. So it enlisted the aid of a bear...yes, a bear, to help both of them cross. The bear refused at first, concerned of the scorpion's sting, but the scorpion promised that it would not cause harm. Eventually, the bear relented, carrying the scorpion through the river upon its back. But midway through, the scorpion broke its word and stung the bear. Except its stinger could not get through the fur. That seems right. Having walked back its promise, the bear cracked open the scorpion's skeleton and consumed its flesh."

The ragged edges of her tale flapped in the wind, all of us slightly terrified to inform the Seeker about the bits she got wrong. It was Varric of all people who threw a leaf into the fire and said, "Not bad, you should tell the one about the goose that lays sour grapes next."

Goose grapes became our code for an un-winnable situation. A fade rift spitting out three despair demons and a pride one as well: goose grapes, at least until we came running back with a fire mage and a few dozen more soldiers. This whole thing was goose grapes the moment my clan appeared. Go, stay, make a difference here or there. No matter what decision I made, someone got hurt.

My fingers thrummed against the bed, inches beside Cullen's face. In the slivers of moonlight I could see only a trace of his pale skin falling slack to slumber as the nightmare faded to the recesses of his memory. It would return, bringing even more pain with it - a lifetime left struggling with the horrors blood mages stirred in his mind. Occasionally, after a bad turn I'd catch him staring at me with pain coursing behind his eyes, regret and blame that by being together he'd passed his own curse onto me. There would be long nights and long days where he'd turn inward, anger and pain stewing together behind his brow until the pressure would finally break and he'd return.

I hadn't thought much of the future. There was surviving the breach, closing the breach, surviving Corypheus, gathering allies to stop him, and finally sending that bastard back to whatever cursed beast created him. Every heartbeat was for the moment, I could ill afford to daydream some far flung future when so much rested upon my shoulders. But now...

Cullen snorted, his mouth curling into a sneer, but he didn't return to his Templar days. "Damn it, dwarf!" he cursed - most likely blaming Varric for something. A smile at his impotent frustration curled up from my gut. I ran the lightest touch along his hand digging into the mattress.

"I want to be with you," I whispered. It was unlikely he heard me, but his sneer fell away as sleep whisked him deeper into the fade. "I just don't know how to do it," I sighed, glancing around the blackened room. The moon had moved nearly the entire lengths of the sky; the sun should return soon, and I was unlikely to find a moments rest before.

Giving up on the night long battle, I slid out of bed and rustled through my piles of clothing always wadded at the edge. I began to slide on the leather pants, when I paused. What I needed was solitude, proper solitude, not to have a dozen people watching from just in the distance, waiting so they could pepper me with questions and concerns. Bypassing the leather pajamas, I picked up my armor. The jangle of the mail caused Cullen to twist, his naked body flipping to the other side, but he didn't rise.

After getting properly outfitted, and trying a new coat with a better lining against the cold, I fished through my desk. The quill was blunt, the words blobby stains upon the page, but I left a note telling Cullen where I intended to go and that I should be back soon. Positioning the note on the desk, I rose, tiptoeing towards the landing.

The anchor nipped across my palm like a paper cut. I glanced out the window into the endless mountains. Who knew how many more assassins lurked in the snows of the Frostbacks, best to not go unprepared just in case. Sliding my refilled quiver across my back, I checked on a few of my better daggers, and strung my bow. Now equipped to take on a fade rift, I slipped out of the room leaving the man I loved to slumber alone.

Almost no one stopped me as I worked towards the gate, the pre-dawn hours of morning showing neither the night owls nor the early birds of Skyhold. Only the occasional patrol shifted, their golden helmets bouncing moonlight as they marched. Cullen wasn't kidding about increasing them. I smiled at the one guardsman working the gate, a dwarf named Harry who did not appreciate the jokes. He nodded at me, glancing back at the lack of an entourage in curiosity.

"Just taking a bit of a walk."

"In the middle of the night?" he asked.

"Old elven trick." It was an idiotic excuse, but it got me out of more hot water than one could imagine. Anytime someone caught me, say, foot deep inside the midden hole I'd shrug and say "old elven trick." Nine times out of ten, they'd smile, nod and continue on their way leaving the Inquisitor to figure out if her boot was worth rescuing from the pile of shit.

The walk out of Skyhold bit colder than I remembered, only a smattering of stars making it past the blankets of clouds. But I had the light of the moon to guide me towards the west. For a time, I followed the trail up to our fortress in the mountains. It was more a road now than the ruts in snow dug up by a bereft retinue of souls hoping to find succor after losing Haven. So many people passed across it that snow could no longer cling. Even after a blizzard the carts had to travel, word needed to be sent, and the ground was churned up, melting away the pristine white.

A wind whispered across my skin, softer than the blasts from around the mountains. I curled my cloak closer and turned off the road, heading deeper into the mountains. My boots moved of their own accord, driving me wherever they wished as my mind wandered untethered. If I remained here, in Skyhold, would this be my life? The hero, once savior, surrounded by stark white snows and frozen winds, slowly aging into uselessness? There was much yet to do. Orlais, while not wanting to admit it, remained in tatters from the civil war. Refugees cluttered the roads from both war and rebellion, needing shelter and the possibility of work.

While Cassandra could whip the seat of the Divine into whatever shape she preferred, smaller chantries currently suffered. So many called upon us to find them clerics, even grand ones, after they lost their own at the conclave. When traveling through a minor town in the golden hills of Orlais, a pair of sisters ran towards our banners. Upon discovering the Herald of Andraste herself stood just to their left, they fell to their knees begging me for help. The conclave took everything from their small chantry save the two people left behind to tend it. Now there was no one. They stared at me, tears streaming in their eyes, begging for an answer as if I knew a thing about chantry politics. I hadn't even set foot inside one save the meeting with Dorian. It seemed unlikely demons were a main decor choice for the chantry, but anything was possible when it came to humans.

What can I possibly add to that heartbreak? A friendly hand wave, a smile, a promise that their Maker watches over them while my gods silently fume in their prison. Or worse, they were always with us but never bothered to help. I don't like feeling helpless, my power comes from drawing my fingers across the string and loosing it, not letting my ass fill a creaking seat. If I remained would I be no better than a bowl of fire?

Ah! My naval gazing flooded away when my shoe stuck upon a rock buried in the snow. Strange to find in the middle of nowhere. I glanced around, trying to spot any assassin tracks, but the only footprints were mine into the clearing. No one had disturbed this site in awhile.

Curious, I wiped off the snow around the rock, discovering it had a brother. Two more emerged, then a bundle, until an entire ring circled the snows. Memories stirred in my mind - I reached out to run my fingers across the rock not native to this area. It came from the wild rivers in the north, plucked up because it weighed just enough to be useful without overbearing. How did I forget?

"Fingers trembling; fear, fury, fatigue. String digging into your nose, the grip too tight, liable to snap back and welt."

I whipped around from my crouch to find Cole standing beside the outcropping where I tried to hide from my people what felt another person ago. He didn't tremble in the cold despite the rags for clothes; nothing in our world seemed to touch him save pain.

"Where did you come from?" I asked, rising up, my voice stern. I wanted to be alone.

Cole's massive hat twisted, "Skyhold."

"I mean, how long have you been here?" Sometimes talking to Cole was like trying to wrestle a greased up nug - a game I lost coin on after putting too much faith in Bull and not enough in the nug.

"Since we arrived," he said, prodding into the obsidian rock with the tip of his finger.

"You've been following me," I sighed. Of course he had; compassion went where it was needed even if it wasn't always wanted.

Cole shook his head, then paused and nodded. "I forget which means yes." He pointed to the fire ring, "You were here before, we both were."

My head whipped around to him, "What do you mean we both were?"

"Arms aching, arcing. 'Shem' burned into your brain like your brother's mage fire. You want to hurt them the way they hurt you. But he doesn't fight, flee, force, only accept."

"Cullen," I translated automatically, despite it being only the two of us. My toe kicked into the fire ring, "I don't know why he risked so much on me."

"Roiling rage revolts in rivers of blood. No more. Never again will it guide his hand. Give her peace, a chance, what he needed that no one offered." Cole paused, twisting his head as if hearing a whisper, "Also, he wanted to see you naked."

I laughed at that, "That...okay, that explains some things."

"You wanted to see him naked as well." Despite being alone, a blush crawled up my cheeks. Cole spoke as crisp and plain as the winter winds, the facts immutable to him.

"I, I suppose I did. Still do," I shrugged. It felt good to voice a fact we danced around. Of course everyone knew about the Inquisitor and her commander, but they didn't need to know. Even his nights spent under my proper roof were framed as early meetings to soldiers snickering at the lie.

I picked up two of the rocks, weighing them in my hand. They'd seen me through numerous solitary trips into the woods, protecting the fire from bracken and my hair rolling too near. I don't know how I could have forgotten to bring them with me. "I nearly left, I could have left. Down the mountain, into Ferelden, and across the waking sea. It was simple enough, I knew all the steps. But I remained, circled the area outside Skyhold and wasted my head start."

"You needed to be needed."

I twisted up to Cole, but could only see the brim of his hat shielding those raw eyes. It sounded childish, like I wanted to play at being the big hero, but perhaps it was that simple. The anger blended with my heartache as I moved around the mountain not down it, until any thought of humans only brought a blinding headache. All I saw was murders. Even when Cullen stood before me, pleading to give the Inquisition a chance, my heart still sneered. How I managed to move past that in the few days I had, I...

"You," I whispered. Cole turned at the comment, then pointed at himself. "Did you, when you were describing events earlier it was because you were reading my mind, right? That thing you do."

"Yes," Cole said, nodding.

I sighed, "Then you didn't take my pain away."

"Oh no, I did that."

"What?"

He knotted his fingers so tightly, his half gloves met, "Pulse pounding, perpetuating pestilence. _Please._ You stared into the fire, palms pressed in prayer. _Please._ "

"There was a family," I stepped away, glancing towards the churned up road in the distance, "a small boy - a human boy, wandered away from his caravan. I found him snagged in an outcropping he failed to fit through. Wolves circled him, sensing an easy meal but cautious. Dispensing them was easy, and at first the boy was grateful for the rescue. But when I returned him to the caravan..."

Cole took up the story, "Eyes glitter like daggers, muscles tight, weapons drawn. A stranger approaches, not just any stranger but a knife-ear. _What has she done with our child?!_ "

"They didn't see an Inquisitor, only an elf in the garb of those who'd steal children in the night for blood sacrifices or so their stories said. I foolishly thought if I did this one good deed maybe my heart would, I don't know, heal...return. That I could return." I knotted my hair behind my ears - my knife ears. Josephine was good on her word and kept it out of Skyhold as best she could, but even the most determined ambassador in Thedas couldn't wipe out that bred in the bone prejudice.

"' _Please,'_ " Cole looked up, his ice eyes landing upon me, " _'take this pain from me. I can't function with it and even if they don't want me, they need me. But Cole, you can't tell me you did this. Keep it secret._ '" He paused in his recitation of events and blanched, "Oh, sorry."

I smiled at the machinations of my former self. Of course if Cole told me the truth, that I'd used him to free my heart, to take away the pain of my brother's death instead of dealing with it on my own, I'd have run right back to the clan. Stubborn should have been my last name, not the clan's one. "It's all right," I said, "I probably would have figured it out eventually."

"My words hurt you," he said, my pain reflected back upon him.

"No, mine do. I, I thought I could make this decision of my own volition. Without my mother's or the Inquisition's influence, but I'm already betrayed. How can I know what's right when my own forgiveness of humans came about because of spiritual influence? Your influence?"

Cole blinked, his tattered hair scraping across his eyes, but he never complained about it. Maybe he thought that was normal. He twisted to the sun finally breaking across the pristine landscape. After a beat, he said, "' _Brave?_ ' he asks, trying to bury the tremble in his voice, the fear of losing your approval because of what he is, who he is. You smile, ' _It's not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path.'_ "

I shook my head at my old words spoken to Dorian, "Why did you say that?"

"Because you wanted to hear it," Cole said.

A cruel laugh garbled in my throat, mocking me for thinking things could be so simple. "Why does the future have to be so complicated?" I ask aloud, but the spirit only shrugged. If anyone truly lived in the moment it was a creature of the fade. They only seemed concerned with the future when twisted into demons. Was that a reflection upon those of us outside their world, scheming and plotting to make the future our own and consuming the present to do it? Or the Dalish, my people, clutching tightly to shards of the past unable, no, unwilling to turn to anything new. Was it fear of losing the old ways that stayed their hand or something else? We tried once to rebuild in the Dales, but what if we could again? Not just me, not just my clan, but so many more creating something substantial.

Cole's eyes glittered below his hat, "You've decided."

"Have I?" I looked up where he stared into the sky and saw the ribbon of green highlighted from the first rays of the sun. The scar would always be there from the breach, but it wasn't the end for me. It could be a beginning. "I suppose I have."

A low growl rumbled across the snows emanating from the rocks to the east. I whipped around to face it, sliding off my bow. White moved over top white, until the dawn's light lanced across a black nose snorting the wind. It was the bear, the same one Rhodri nearly got himself killed for. Blood still trickled from the fade wound, unable to heal without a mage's touch.

I glanced at Cole. "Are you ready?"

He unsheathed his daggers and whispered, "Pain, agony splitting up her side. It needs release."

"I'll take that as a yes," I said. By the orange glow of the sun, Cole struck deep into the bear's flank while I unleashed a torrent of arrows upon her.

My arms strained from the pull, trying to drag the makeshift travois up the incline of Skyhold. A few guards offered to help but I shrugged them off. This was something I had to do myself. Cole drifted in and out of view, a green ghost curious to watch but not really there. His work was finished.

The dining hall sat quiet despite the breakfast hour, almost as if someone chased everyone out. Probably the four people currently screaming at each other at the other end of the throne room.

"What have you done with her?" was the first shriek I heard, courtesy of my mother.

"I have done nothing," Cullen cut back, a sneer in his voice. Elgar'non, why does this have to be so heavy? Something popped in my shoulder, hopefully a seam in the tight leathers and not one inside my arm. Gritting my teeth, I redoubled my effort.

"We know what you've done with my daughter," my mother's voice dipped low like the growl of an ogre.

"That wasn't what..." Cullen sighed, "She's her own person."

"Yes, but where did the Inquisit...she go?" Josie interrupted, trying to placate what was the possible beginnings of another war even more violent than the exalted march on the Dales. At least if my mother had anything to say about it.

I managed to get up the landing, a few of the cowed people scattered to the edges looking up at their Inquisitor. They rose to assist, but more screaming from the advisors froze them. Only Varric caught sight of me and smirked before nodding his head at the proceedings. I suspected there was some wager on the line.

"How should I know where she's gone?" Cullen grumbled. Odd for him to keep the note a secret, but who knows what I missed.

"You're her people and you can't even keep track of her? When some murderers lurk right outside the door? And you expect me to leave my child in your hands?" She could lay it on thick when she wanted, I had to give the Keeper that.

"Commander," Leliana said softer than the two at odds.

"What?"

"You were the last to see her," the spymaster tried to politically say 'we know you spent the night together.'

"So..." he reared back, both hands on the hilt of his sword. This must have been going on for some time, the hair standing up on everyone's neck as they screamed circles around each other. Still no one would look up at me working inches across the floor. "What of you, spymaster? Do you know where she's gone? Is that not your job?"

"I was concerned with the assassin," Leliana said.

"Something else you missed," Cullen bit back. He wasn't about to let that one go soon.

Nearly to the big fancy Andraste statues, I released my grip, the travois coming to a halt along with the massive gift stretched across it. Rising my hands to my mouth I shouted, "Would you all stop bickering for a moment!"

"Inquisitor!" Josephine was the first to cry out, "You've returned with...a bear?"

All four of them turned to find me standing astride the massive carcass of the snow bear. It wasn't the most nail biting of fights I'd been in, Cole working his magic in more ways than the daggers it seemed, but after she fell it seemed wrong to leave her to rot forgotten in the snows. By the time we whipped up a travois of wood and rope Cole "found" and got her back to Skyhold it was late morning coming up on noon.

A moment of relief crossed Cullen's face that I hadn't run off in the night and then he wiped at his chin. I mimicked his movement, blotting bear blood off my face and across my palm.

"Da'len!" the Keeper shouted, banging her staff into the ground, "I feared the shemlan had done something untoward with you. More untoward," she added, glaring at the commander.

"I took a walk," twisting back to the mound of silent white fur, I added, "and then it got a bit less walkey more stabby. I left a note on my desk." The advisors all looked up as if they could see through the ceiling to my blobby paper on the desk. "You all missed it?"

"No matter," my mother said, "you've returned to us and brought a gift for the clan."

"No."

My mother blinked from my negation and twisted her body back around to face me. She'd already declared what was about to happen and moved to the next stage of her plans, berating the advisors further for some imagined slight. "No?" Her shock at my failure to play along, to fall in line as always, bit deep. Unable to contain itself, my brain jumped straight to rebellion.

"This isn't yours, Keeper nor the clans. This bear is for Commander Cullen," I shouted to her darkening eyes. Josephine squealed for a moment, then buried her face behind her clipboard.

"I, uh, you are? That's very...thank you?" Cullen stuttered, lost in the proclamation I hadn't intended to make. The bear was just something that I didn't wish to waste, but now I wanted to keep it as far from my mother's grasping fingers as possible.

Despite her advanced years, the Keeper rounded upon me faster than most enemies. Her fingers gripped onto my upper arm, trying to pull me to her. Instead of cowed, I focused my glare fully upon her.

"You dare to," she whipped her head back to Cullen, who was trying to dissect Josephine's attempts to hide her massive grin, "with that...the clan will not approve of such matters!"

"Sod the clan, mother," I said, leaning into her. She gasped, her fingers breaking free of me. Raising my voice, I tried to command the room, drawing every ear to me as I walked in a circle around the Keeper. "You came here to secure me as your new leader, not for the clan, but Wycome, yes?" I paused just long enough for my mother to glare, but not answer. "But if I accept the position it will not help our people. We don't need another accomplishment for the Inquisitor or the Herald of Andraste." I slowed in my pacing to catch my mother's eye, and tipped my head, my voice sincere. "We need a Dalish one."

"You are one of the people," she said, ignoring the fact she'd practically kicked me out a moment before.

"And if you lead Wycome, rescue it not just for the Dalish but elves, provide succor, turn it into something great, it will show the world that more than just one of us is capable."

For a moment her pride flared, and she muttered to herself, "I never thought myself incapable." Aware of the audience she shouted to me, "What of you? For what reason..." again she side eyed the commander, "for what logical reason could you have to forgo your people?"

"For the same reasons elves with magic leave their clans," I turned on her. She rarely spoke of her own parents beyond a curt word and a mention that heartburn ran in the family. But there was steel when she brought up the choice to leave her clan, to set out for one that needed a mage. It was a source of pain and pride. "Here I can help, here I can change things. The world is still reeling from Corypheus, from the civil war, from rebellion and who knows what else."

"You would give up everything you are for them," my mother said softly, shaking her head.

My steps stumbled and I turned back to her. She deflated from a larger than life adversary to an old woman wound up in threadbare cloth, clucking her tongue at her foolish daughter. "Ir tel'him," I whispered, drawing her head up. For a moment my mother shook her head, her own pain from a life lived bumping into Shemlans showing. Losing Cadrid would bit deep, a hurt that would never properly set. I understood why she wanted to protect me, but I could handle myself.

She picked up my hands, rubbing the palms like scrubbing away dirt. After a moment, her voice broke, "Fen'Harel ma ghilana."

I knew she couldn't understand, couldn't accept I had my own life to live and perhaps, I knew how to go about it. Closing my fingers over hers, I said, "Ir abelas."

The Keeper snorted once as if my sorrow was false, but as I clutched her fingers tighter she turned to me, patting my cheek. For a brief moment, my mother returned to me.

"Inquisitor?" It was Leliana who broke us apart, "Does this mean you intend to remain with us?"

I stepped back from my mother - her fingers clung tight unwilling to let go - but she couldn't stop the inevitable. "Yes," I said, nodding my head and raising my voice, "Yes, I intend to remain." Applause began behind me from the dwarf standing on top of his chair for a better view and scattered around the hall, a few people waving their hands in joy. I risked a quick glance at Cullen. He had his eyes fixed upon the ground, but a smile twisted up his lips.

After the clapping died down enough, I spoke, "But..."

"But?" Josephine parroted, her quill pausing. Creators, what was she writing down before?

"I need time to myself, time to remember who I am," I turned back to my mother still stunned that she lost, "what I am. On occasion, I would like to, need to spend a week or so in the forests alone. I'd check in so no one would worry," my demands paused as I smiled at Cullen. "But I can't live my life as only a political puppet any longer."

"Understood, Inquisitor," Leliana said curtly, as if I made any greater demands of their time than I'd like an extra ration of biscuits every Tuesday please.

"So this is what is to happen? Your choice?" my mother spat, "You are to play at being Dalish for a few weeks out of the year."

"I am Dalish," I cut back, " as are so many others. Perhaps it's time we re-evaluate what that means."

She twisted her head as if every word I spoke was utter gibberish. Perhaps it was and I'd eventually fall, but I had to try, to change things. If we sat stationary for the rest of time nothing would move. Sighing, the Keeper lifted her hood over her head and turned towards the exit.

"Wait," Cullen called out, "Keeper Deshanna." My mother paused in her steps, but didn't hide the shudder at his use of her name. "I think your clan should take the bear."

That snagged my mother's attention. She twisted around to eye him up, "You would give me that gift?!"

"It seems you can make a greater use of it than we could, and..." Cullen said, wilting from two sets of female eyes drilling into him. "Skyhold doesn't require-"

Josephine jumped in, cutting him off, "Commander, you should know that..."

"No, uh, he's right," I said, shaking my head vigorously at the helpful ambassador. "I'm not ready, I mean we're not, uh, Skyhold's not really...we don't need it." My blathering ended in a smile to Josephine shrinking behind her wedding planning and the very lost commander. I paused and smirked, "At least not yet."

"Very well, shemlan. I will take the bear as you instructed." She turned to me, her eyes watering. "Da'len, ma nuvenin," the Keeper shook her head, "I leave you to your fate." Without saying another word, she stepped out of the hall, every whack of her staff against the floor echoing until she vanished.

After counting my breath, I turned back to my advisors who still seemed dumbstruck by the morning's events - probably the entire past two days. The knots in my shoulder's ached if I even thought about them. Leliana bowed her head, "It is good to have you returned, Inquisitor."

"I'm no longer here because of need, or circumstance, or an ancient myth trying to kill us all," I said, breathing deeply. "This time it's by my choice."

"Excellent," Josephine said, still happy even if she couldn't fulfill her wedding dreams. After a moment she pointed to the massive corpse filling the walkway in my throne room. "Should I inquire about workers to clear the bear?"

Three days passed before the clan was able to move on. My mother spent the first two squirreled away in her aravel refusing to speak to anyone. So I spent the time sitting around the fire with Moldan telling him of my better exploits, or letting Bull and the Chargers fill his head with even wilder stories. Eria remained snippy, sitting at Rhodri's healing side, until I introduced her to Dagna. I considered it a successful exchange in unbridled blather until I caught a dark glower from Cullen followed by a series of explosions and Sera rolling across the lawn, her skin coated in soot. At least we never used that room for anything.

On the final night, the Keeper stepped free from her isolation. She tried once more to get me to side with her, to return to my people, but it was half hearted, her voice broken. It often took my mother awhile to accept defeat but when she did, the pressure broke. I let her speak to a few other elves that explored the temple of Mythal's depths, showed her the paintings Solas left behind. She wished she could make a copy of them to study, and I promised I'd get an artist on it and send it to her. We had to have one of those poking around in Skyhold somewhere.

She even shared a meal with me and Cullen. It was a bit like sitting down with Gaspard, Briala, and Celene again - everyone trying to not bite through their silverware through clenched jaws. And, of course, she grumped if I so much as deigned a glance at my commander, but it was a start of sorts. Perhaps, given enough time, she'd come to accept the idea of my happiness if not the means. That was probably the best I could hope for.

I didn't expect to feel a tug as I gave my last goodbyes. Eria was still without eyebrows, but she clutched the tempered bear fur tight in her arms while holding up Rhodri. He'd only glared at the fur he failed to bring in and wished me luck with the "stinking shemlans." It was Moldon we had to scour Skyhold for. Somehow he wound up in the stables with the Chargers, a new tattoo across his face. The Keeper sighed like an exasperated mother, but didn't scold him. I'd kicked the fight all out of her - at least for a few months. As the aravel sailed out of Skyhold for the last time, she pressed her fingers against my hand, drawing an elven phrase upon the palm. Without saying goodbye, she leaped up into the back of the land ship and sailed away with the rest.

Climbing up the steps to my throne room, I ran my fingers across the word and heard her unsaid words in my heart, "Dareth, da'len. Be safe, child." It was something, and it was much easier to build on something than starting at nothing.

"Been an exciting few days," Varric said, fiddling with his necklace.

"I'll say. Sorry you missed your earlier boat," I said.

"Forget it. That story teller of yours, he's got some good ones I can fit into my next serial."

I slipped a hand onto my hip, "Are you stealing from my people, durgen'len?"

Varric laughed, "Someone's going to, might as well be a friend. I figured I'd catch the boat with your clan, at least see 'em across the sea, keep 'em out of any crazy templar/mage harm's way."

"Thank you, Varric, that's sweet and...shouldn't you be hurrying up to catch them?"

A cruel grin twisted up Varric's face. He held up a hand and said, "Give it a moment..."

Incoherent screams that sounded decidedly Orlesian echoed from outside the hold's walls. These were then followed by the cold but powerful bellow of the Keeper as both circled around each other.

"That'd be the retinue from Lydes Josie's been fretting about," Varric explained. He dipped down, gathering up a bag's strap and dropping it across a shoulder.

"How did you...?" I asked, terrified of the dwarf's power.

"Come now Inquisitor, you never show all your cards." He set off down the stairs towards the screams as Orlesian and Dalish tried to work together to come unstuck. A bit down the ramp he waved a hand at me and shouted, "Don't be a stranger, you hear."

"Never," I called back. Varric smiled, a song humming under his breath as he landed in the courtyard for the last time. I turned away heading into my throne room. A few scholars rushed around, massive piles of scrolls in their hands. They'd made some major discovery within a forgotten translation and required a retinue of soldiers to protect their digging into the muck for a moldy relic. I tipped my head at them, but they were in such a frenzy of excitement most danced past. Life continued on, barely aware of what the Inquisitor nearly threw aside.

I paused at the throne, my fingers running along the arm rests. A seat of power thrown up quickly to solve a problem no one anticipated. It felt strange for me of all people to sit and judge, declaring this and that as if some forest rat had any true power over the shemlan world. Now, it was one I'd chosen to fill. So many decisions yet hung over my head, where I could best help, and in what capacity. The responsibility could one day break me.

"Are you going to sit?"

Yanked away from my thoughts, I caught Cullen strolling towards me. A smirk was on his lips, but there was still a tenderness in his eyes. I'd wounded him, whether I meant to or not.

Shaking my head, I laughed, "No, though be my guest if you'd like to try it out."

He eyed up the chair as if it could sting him, "I'd rather leave it in your capable hands." Picking up said capable hands, he pulled me closer. I knotted my arms around his back and fell into a hug. He followed suit, placing his lips against my forehead. "Are you all right?"

Always concerned about me. Creators, how could it be wrong to love that? To love him? Smiling, I nodded my head, "Yes, for the first time in awhile I feel...free."

"About these forest excursions...?"

"Those are non-negotiable," I said, even while laying my head against his shoulder.

"I know," Cullen sighed, "but I was wondering if it would be permissible, if I could perhaps join you? On occasion."

I leaned back, capturing those amber eyes, "You know it's walking in the woods, sleeping on the ground? Not a brazier or report in sight?"

Cullen snorted, "I am aware. I don't have an allergy to nature. I did grow up on a farm."

Running my fingers along his jaw I whispered, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Good." He tipped down, his lips whispering across mine, but I wasn't about to give up easily. My fingers gripped onto the back of his head, pulling him for a deeper kiss. He held tighter to me, that unshakeable resolve returning.

As we broke apart, I grazed his cheek with the back of my fingers, trying to lay down his stubble. "Cullen, I want you to know that if or when I decide I'm no longer of use here, that I want to move on, you'll be included in that decision. I swear."

He paused, his smile falling flat, as if he didn't believe me, but then he closed his eyes and whispered, "Ma vhenan."

"Emma lath," I added, wrapping into him. Who knew what the future truly held. I couldn't have predicted one of the Magisters that walked in the black city would split open the fade and only a mark drilled into my hand on accident could close it. I certainly never saw my heart opening for a shemlan with sunset colored eyes and a comforting arm. Whatever may come at least I knew this time it would be by my choice.

"I was curious," Cullen said, leaning back so he could look me fully in the eye, "what exactly was symbolized by you giving me that bear?"

"Oh," I shouted, jumping out of his arms. He had to see the blush burning up my neck, but I danced around to distract him, "I should go wave goodbye to Varric. Before he leaves forever. Come on!"

Cullen sighed, then laughed as I picked up his hand, pulling him towards the door, "This is your way of saying you don't want to explain. But I shall get it from you one day, I have time."

"As long as we want," I said.


	16. Moment of Home

"Watch your flank," he shouted, yanking the reins of his horse to emphasize the order. The chastised soldier only rolled his eyes, but veered off into the bramble, not about to disobey the command.

I urged my horse closer to him and said softly, "Cullen, we're on the road. I think we're good."

"There have been reports of bandits in the area, and we need to remain sharp lest any catch us off guard." His eyes darted through the dappled bracken, clipped and maintained across both sides of the road. It seemed the least likely place in Ferelden for someone to spring out and demand your gold or your life, unless the bandit was very foolhardy or it was his first day.

"It's been, what, a year? Year and a half? I think we're safe from Corypheus, the Venatori, and any lingering Red Templars. Haven't even run across a rift in near on four months," I said. Clouds rolled away, casting a sunbeam across my face to beat warmth through the light leather armor. The ride had been near picture perfect, with even a few fluffy rabbits pawing adorably by the side of the road. Of course, that only gnawed deeper into my poor Commander's nerves who needed something to go wrong either to feel useful or to distract himself.

"That does not mean there are no other dangers. Rumors of a rise in darkspawn due to the loss of Grey Wardens in the area crossed my desk."

I cracked an eye from my sunbathing horse-side and spotted the lone cloud rolling above his head. "Are you all right?" I asked. "This was your idea."

Cullen glanced to our flanks, noting the men and women he scattered into the forest far enough away to not overhear us. The retinue, while only a few soldiers, was still far too much for this meager trip upon the King's road. But, over-planning made him feel better, and who was I to argue?

"I haven't seen them in a time, a very long time. I..." his fingers curled tight around the saddle horn, flicking at a tear in the leather.

With the grace of a bronto on ice, I reached over to hold his hand but bumped his elbow by mistake, nearly sliding out of my seat. Almost two years with the Inquisition and I still barely kept in the saddle. No wonder enemies were always throwing me off the damn thing. Righting myself I said, "It will be all right. It's your family."

His honey eyes turned to me and he smirked, "Because the visit from yours was no trouble."

"Ouch," I laughed. "Low blow. Fine, if your sister and brother intend to drag you away from me to lead some city-state they're forming then I'll concede your point."

"I'm uncertain who to root for," Cullen admitted, smiling softly at me. But there was a tinge still, a bead of worry that creased his brow if talk of the future ever crossed our lips. I gave him my word that if or when I intended to return to the clan I'd tell him. That he would be a part of my plans, but some nights he'd grip tighter to me, as if afraid I might vanish into the darkness without a word.

"Always side with the Inquisitor," I quipped, spurring my horse past him. Ferelden's winding landscape shifted, and I twisted my horse past a copse of trees that had no intention to move for the road. Further in the distance I spotted a massive wooden gate embedded into a rocky cliffside to the left. The door was thrown open and a few carts squatted in the way of it. They looked immobile, chickens pecking around the road's grit beside their broken wheels.

Spinning in my saddle, I watched the prick of nostalgia bloom to sweet remembrance across Cullen's face. "Honnleath," he declared, gesturing to the village we'd set out for. The other soldiers pulled in closer, guiding their horses into a formation unlikely to make it through the gate. But it wouldn't do well for the Inquisition to have a shabby presentation even if it was just for a small village in the farming hills. I tried to slow my horse up so Cullen could take the front, but the soldiers pressed in. There was no choice but for me to continue leading. Story of my life.

A few townsfolk glanced up at us, curious at the commotion, then returned right back to their morning chores. They were unimpressed by the glint of golden insignia or embroidered banners hanging across saddles. There was the price of sorghum to bicker over - a few shiny strangers mattered little in the grind of life. That was until Cullen passed through the gates.

"Is that the Rutherford boy? The younger one."

"Can't be, heard he was off with the Templars before they went crazy."

"Templars were always crazy. Have to be to face down mages every day."

"Looks just like that other one...Branson."

Through the whispers Cullen's back straightened, his head held higher. He'd waded through the river of political shit that was the Winter Palace by refusing to play, but here he wasn't Ser Cullen of the Inquisition, only the "Rutherford boy what once broke old Olaf's cheese knife." They said you can't go back home, but that seemed less a curse and more advice. It's not that you can't go home, it's that you really don't want to.

I twisted my horse around and dismounted, still sliding less than gracefully to the ground, my legs straining from the reach. Cullen did the same, passing his reins off to one of our soldiers. "There's a barn at the end of this path," he said, pointing to one of three in the entire village, "you can house the steeds there."

"Commander," Vasta said, dipping her head, "we were told to see you here and then return to the Inquisition campsite near the Hinterlands."

"By whom?" he asked. The soldier glanced towards me, pulling Cullen's focus with her. I nodded my head once, then passed off my own reins. Unable to argue against the mighty Inquisitor's word Cullen only sighed, "Very well. I'll...contact you when I need you."

"Ser!" Vasta saluted, dragging our horses away to enjoy some time in the country. The other soldiers followed suit, digging their heels in for a long ride back towards Redcliffe.

Cullen ran his fingers across his face, scrubbing as if to dig away the grime of the road. It mostly left streaks across that pale skin and brassy hair showing its first signs of grey - not that I'd let him know I noticed. Slipping my hand into his, I squeezed tightly. He returned it in kind, drawing a bit of strength from the gesture. Hand in hand, he guided me up a small hill. Unpainted houses circled an open area I'd call a courtyard if anything important were inside it. But only a half ring of fencing and a barely maintained grassy mound broke it apart. A few people moved across the two roads flanking it, not stopping to look at the blank space in the middle.

"Huh," he paused, staring in the middle of the field, "there used to be a massive statue in that very spot."

"Oh?" I asked, sidling closer.

"Six, perhaps seven feet tall, roaring back in rage. My sister dared me to climb it once."

"Did you?"

A sheepish but proud burn climbed his cheeks, "I was up to its shoulders by the time father caught us. Ordered us to never go near the thing. I wonder what happened to it."

"Maybe it broke," I said. "It's not like statues just get up and walk away." A shudder shook Cullen's spine and his eyes glared back through his own life. How could I forget? He didn't talk often of those days, but I'd gather bits and pieces. Varric filled in a lot about Meredith and her retinue of horrors coming to life and climbing off daisies to attack Hawke. I touched his elbow lightly, drawing him back to me. He blinked, his dark thoughts evaporating away. Rather than remove the dirt, I added more to his face, my fingers sliding along his cheek. Hopping up onto my toes, I aimed for a kiss when a woman's voice cried out from behind me.

"Cullen!"

He turned away, but still kept a grip on my waist. "Mia!" he called back, waving to a woman standing in a stand of grass.

Judging from the way he spoke of his sister, I expected her to be nearly as tall as Cullen with the gravitas of a Tammasran. But she was maybe five feet at most and could blow away in a heavy wind. Mia favored her right leg, limping towards us. Cullen increased his gait towards her so she need not walk far. Bending low, he scooped her into a warm hug. She patted his shoulder, kicking dust off the fur pauldrons that never saw a wash.

"I didn't expect you until tomorrow," her size might be waifish, but her voice could command nations. Even Cullen blinked back, abashed from her words as if arriving early was some grave accident.

"The roads were quieter than expected," he said, rising up.

"Seems some big hats staying up in the mountains have been clearing them," she smiled, then glanced away from her brother towards me, "Is that her?"

Cullen waved me over, "Mia, meet the Inquisitor."

Her face was softer than Cullen's with a spattering of more wrinkles crunching beside her eyes, the jowls rounder either from comfort or smiling more. But they had the same lion eyes, gazing across the land before them, maintaining an eternal watch and protection of their domain.

Rolling my eyes at his choice of terms, I stuck out my hand. Mia gripped it tighter than most chevaliers, her skin calloused from life on the farm. "Please don't call me Inquisitor."

"Lady Lavellan, then?" she quipped, then grabbed the edge of her apron as if to curtsy.

I shot Cullen a look, but he held his hands up, absolving himself of his sister's whims. "No, you can just use- "

A whir of legs and feet scattered my thoughts when a child bounded out of a door and ran straight through Mia's legs. She tried to stretch wide to allow the child through, but bent too far. Cullen steadied her while the boy grabbed onto my thigh, using it to slow himself. Red jelly handprints followed his wake as he swung too and fro around me.

"'Ello Auntie," the boy said to Mia. Then he turned to the man shifting from the toddler's glare and to me, narrowing his eyes in concentration, "Don't know you. Do you know Da? Do-you-like-my-shirt? Auntie-made-it-for-me. I'm Mmmblim."

I rather doubted Mmmblim was his given name, but his words slurred from excitement as he spotted an inchworm wriggling across the ground. Far too busy to wait for a response regarding his shirt or who I was, he dashed off after the insect. I wished more of my introductions went that way. "Who are you? Uh huh, uh huh. Not important, there's bugs to catch."

Cullen chuckled at his probably nephew's lack of focus. "I take it Branson's here."

"Arrived two days ago," Mia said, then nodded at the boy crawling along the ground on that beloved shirt, "That one's been tearing through the place, trying to build his own fortress out of the apple crates. He insists we all salute him and call him Ser. Can't imagine what's influencing him." She rolled her eyes towards Cullen.

I couldn't bury the laugh at Cullen's face, a soft grimace from her jibes. But Mia took it in stride, "It's been all the boy's wanted to hear. Tell me about Cul and his great stories."

Cullen shifted on his feet, "They're hardly bedtime fodder."

Mia shrugged, "Perhaps to you caught in the middle of it, for the rest of us all we hear is the dashing uncle who stood against a dragon and stitched up the sky."

He twisted his head to argue, but I interrupted, "That's exactly how it went. Dragon standing, sky stitching, lots of dashing. Right, love?"

For a moment his frown snarled back, but he sighed, rolling his eyes. "Where is Branson?" Cullen asked, "I don't enjoy being outvoted this quickly."

Mia limped to the side and pointed towards one of the doors thrown open most likely from the child still pursuing worms. "He's been cataloguing some of grandmother's stranger antiques. Why mother kept them all..." She began working towards the house at the bottom of the hill, sliding her foot under her.

"Where's your cane?" Cullen asked. He dipped beside her so she could hook an arm inside his and use him as leverage.

Mia glanced back towards the child, "I believe it's currently the only weapon that can save us all from the Archdemon."

Together the siblings walked down the lane to the house with the door wide open and a barren windowsill planter hanging out of the second story. I glanced at the boy still hunting for worms at my feet, uncertain if I was supposed to bring him with - or how. Luckily, as soon as I began to lean down to speak to him, he jumped up, something clutched tight in his hand, and ran off for his aunt.

"Lookie, look, look what I found!" he shouted, holding his blackened fingers out to Cullen.

"Yes, beautiful," Mia interrupted before Cullen had a chance to even see what was found, "Go show it to your father." The boy dashed away inside the house, his only speed seeming to be full gallop. His shoes clomped up the stairs, the sound echoing all the way back through the square as Mia and Cullen both slipped into the house. I followed behind, curious what to find.

Living indoors was still a strange endeavor to me. To spend ones life encased in what was basically a wooden box and call it a home seemed a peculiar way to live. I grew accustomed to Skyhold by having Josephine's master sculpture create a few marble trees for me. Took a lot of translating, and he kept staring at me as if I wanted to consume his first born, but eventually I had my own small forest in my room. The golden and silver vhenedal tree he carved for me proved so popular amongst guests they became all the rage in Val Royeaux the next year.

A massive table greeted people entering this house, with benches lined along both sides that could sit all my companions if Bull stood. Wooden crates filled it, piled in a certain order that must have made the child's dream fortress invulnerable. Behind the table the hearth burbled fire trapped behind smooth grey stone. A lone kettle swung off the spit across it, hissing for attention. Someone hung a sign painted upon old barnwood over the fireplace. I could only make out the words "Heart" and "Rutherford" through the grime and scripty carving.

Mia slid away from her brother to land upon the throne of the house. It looked as if it'd been carved in a single piece from the heart of an ancient tree, with an intricate design of bonded branches forming the back and arms. She leaned back, the chair tipping with her until it rocked forward in a smooth motion. Judging by the fact no one else raced to help, it was probably supposed to do that.

"We've begun some work on the house, nothing major. Despite being abandoned, it's still in relatively good shape."

Cullen pushed aside one of the crates and ran his fingers along something on the table."Gran did build things sturdy."

"And wrap you across the knuckles if you broke anything," Mia chuckled. She rolled a few more times in the chair, a quilt tossed upon the back cushioning the blow against the wall. "How long's it been since you were last here?"

Cullen rose up, his fingers fiddling with that sword at his side. I almost suggested he leave it behind at Skyhold, but then I worried what he'd do without the thing to keep his hands busy. "A year before I left for Templar training, I think. When we spent the summer in town. We loved it."

"You loved it," Mia said. Sitting up, she reached for a box beside the chair and shuffled through it. "Mother, however..."

Cullen chuckled and raised his voice to pantomime probably his mother, "'Feed me to the wolves before I get so feeble I have to move to town.' It never seemed that bad."

The stairs creaked and I expected another flurry of child limbs and insects, but the well worn boots of a man appeared. Taking his time down the bowing steps, he appeared looking like the stretched version of Cullen. His face was more gaunt, the cheeks pulled back tighter, and his forehead longer. Even his legs and arms appeared extended, wrapped tightly in cotton and worn leathers, dusty from work.

"I thought I heard the sound of my baby brother returned home, but that seems impossible," the man said. "He's far too busy saving the world." He stopped on the stairs and tilted his head at the proceedings. I'd met a lot of nobles in the Inquisitor business who'd run the gambit in looks from spoiled snot to possibly a bear someone stuffed in pants, but this was a gentleman. Every gesture was measured and precise as he wiped a small bit of dirt off his clothes with a kerchief before folding it properly back into a pocket.

Cullen, looking even more out of place in his armor than usual, stumbled around the piles of packing materials to throw his arms around the man. "Branson."

I'd expected a soft pat on the back, perhaps a side hug, but Branson returned the expression fully. I suspected the Rutherford crest should include two bears in a massive embrace, followed by a chess game. After stepping back from Cullen, he turned to me, "And this must be..."

"We're not supposed to call her Inquisitor," Mia shouted from her perch.

Branson smiled a far too familiar one, and I stuck my hand out. "I'm trying to get away from all that for awhile."

He eyed up my traveling gear, still overtop chainmail because there are somethings I can't talk the man I love out of worrying about. Then he turned to Cullen and sighed, "I see you couldn't break him away from it."

"Only for a few brief moments, I'm afraid," I said. "Mostly at night, or early morning."

Cullen stuttered, "They don't need to know, that's not pertinent to...I can enjoy myself outside of...Maker."

"We grew up on a farm, Cullen" Mia said. "I think we all know how it works." She said it straight, but I swore I caught a quick wink at me.

"You're not helping," Cullen grumbled, but it only encouraged both of us to laugh. Branson remained in his brother's corner by not saying anything. Instead, he picked up some of his son's fortress boxes and laid them upon the floor before sitting in the chair opposite the door.

Mia sat forward, drawing my attention. "I am curious, if you'll indulge me..." I nodded, sliding my leg across one of the benches to sit at the table. "How did you two meet? My brother was lax on the details, as usual."

"I was not!" Cullen tried to defend himself as he yanked back a bench, finding the sword unwilling to compromise. His sister shot him a pity look, shaking her head.

"Funny story, really," I said. "First I was his prisoner, then I rescued him from a demon horde, and stopped the expansion of the giant whole in the sky. After that it's pretty much fairy tale tropes."

"So, it was love at first demon?" Branson asked.

"Took a few more demons, but yeah, eventually," I smiled at the man turning a few shades of pink from his siblings interest in his love life.

"Is it just to be the three of us?" Cullen suddenly interrupted, trying to find any way to change the subject.

Mia rolled her eyes, but Branson interpreted, "No, she's not coming. Our youngest sister's in Denerim."

"Denerim?" Cullen asked, "When did she go there?"

"A few years after the blight," Mia said, "She heard about some tavern named for the Grey Wardens and simply had to work there. Thought it was fate guiding her."

"She always was more of an uncalibrated trebuchet," Cullen said.

Mia shrugged, "It's not that surprising, she was young when the Hero of Ferelden saved Honnleath and held it all in awe."

That caught Cullen's attention. He shifted away from some hazy memories of his youngest sister to focus on Mia, "Recuse? The Hero of Ferelden? When did this occur?"

"During the blight," Branson said. "Darkspawn swarmed into the area, and we thought it'd be safest to find shelter in town with others. Lone farms were easier for those monsters to pick off."

"Smart idea until the darkspawn came into town with us. We hid in that strange old mage's basement until the Warden saved us," Mia elaborated.

"Why am I only hearing of this now?" Cullen's voice slipped into interrogation mode.

"Probably because you didn't bother reading your letters," Mia cut back, smiling wide from her win. Cullen scowled, but didn't have a response knowing she was right. The sound of wild horses rampaging down the stairs echoed through the house until the child jumped off the last one to join us. He still held his hands tight, hiding whatever he found, but holding it aloft.

"Come here," Branson said, patting his knee. The child scrambled up into his father's lap, Branson having to do most of the lifting. "Ugh, you grow heavier with each hour." He only smiled at his father's funny joke, twisting around to face us. "If this little toad had been born a girl we were going to name her after the Hero."

"Just like half of the Ferelden babies now," Mia said, but she smiled as if she'd planned the same.

"Did you get to meet her, the Hero of Ferelden?" I asked Mia.

She shook her head, "Only for a moment, most of us ran once she slaughtered the darkspawn. Though she did stay to save that girl Amelia - oh you probably never met her, the Wilhelm boy's child - and kill a few more demons without needing to. It's not my place to ascribe traits to her, but if pressed I'd probably call her focused."

"Wasn't she a mage from the circle in Ferelden?" Branson said, trying to see around his wiggling son, "You must have met her before, Cullen. Or did she become a warden before your time?"

Cullen balked from his brother's words, his eyes focused on the table while his fingers pricked at the wood. I spoke for him, "More than met, he was in love with her."

"What?"Mia sprang forward, almost falling out of the chair. "You knew her, more than knew her, and didn't say anything?"

"It was a...complicated time. Things didn't, I don't like to talk about it," Cullen sighed. "And I didn't love her, it was an infatuation only on my end. A youthful indiscretion of...complicated times."

Slowly Mia turned to eye me up, "The Hero of Ferelden and the Inquisitor."

"He certainly doesn't want for standards," Branson quipped. It broke whatever tension boiled in the air as all of us laughed even as a blush crawled up Cullen's cheeks.

Mia rose off her chair and said, "That kettle's been abused enough, I'm getting a cup. Anyone else?"

"Sure," I said, moving to rise. She held a hand up, finding the energy to fish a mug from one of the crates.

"What would you like?"

"I'll have whatever's available," I said.

Mia sniffed the kettle then slopped it into two cups, "I believe this is ancient nettlevein tea, with hints of orange peel and dust. Don't mind the spider legs."

I stood up to grab a cup and tried to ignore the eyes boring into me. Taking a careful sip, I swallowed and said, "The spider legs are extra protein."

I must have passed some test, as both siblings turned to their brother and smiled wide. Pouring a third and fourth cup for her brothers, Mia finally grabbed hers up and sat down at the bench beside Branson. The boy tried to reach for her cup, insisting he loved tea, but his father only shook his head.

"No, it's too hot for you, son." I kept waiting for someone to say the child's name. It had to happen eventually. You couldn't call him boy for an entire week.

"News of the Inquisition doesn't reach us as often as we'd like," Mia said.

Cullen shook his head, "It's grown quiet, for once."

"Sweet creators," I said, "did you just admit things are well and not about to fall apart? Someone mark this day." He shook his head, but I only grinned, taking another sip of the spider leg tea. It was growing on me.

"I did hear you mentioned in a song," Mia said to Cullen.

"Oh," I put down my mug, "the one that calls him stout and bright. He hates that. Makes him sound fat."

"It does not. I don't...It doesn't bother me in the least. I...simply don't enjoy my life being put to verse," Cullen grumbled. I shot him a patronizing look, having heard his complaints every time Marydan's song punctuated our tavern. He growled, that sneer in place.

Mia shook her head, "No, it's not that one. This is much more...salacious."

"What?" Cullen sat up at his sister glancing away. She seemed to find the ceiling fascinating, while Branson was distracted or distracting his son.

"It's rather good, actually. Not the most catchy thing, but lyrical. Though it's rather hard to think something that steamy could be regarding your baby brother who once ran around with small clothes upon his head."

"I did no such thing!" Cullen denied, but Mia giggled and held up not one but two fingers. It seemed a particular favored activity of his.

"There, there," I soothed his ruffled fur, "I'm certain you were a very dignified child strutting around with underthings on your head." A massive blush burned up his neck, and the sneer seemed a permanent fixture now, but as my fingers trilled across the back of his head his face smoothed down to accepting things. A memory triggered in my brain and I turned to Mia, "Wait, is this the song about the dragon succumbing to an ex-templar's charms and transforming into a beautiful woman?"

"Yes," Mia said, "that's the one! Very, um..."

"Tell me about it," I murmured into my mug.

"I...what?" Cullen twisted from his sister back to me. "You've heard this song? Why didn't you tell me? How am I the last to know this?"

"It's only in orlesian, I needed Josie to translate most of it. She was happy to after we heard your name, and then the blush on her as it got to the later verses...I still think she faked the ending, though." Cullen's panicked glare from the information got only a slow roll of my eyes. "What? You weren't with me in Val Royeaux. Though it'd have been priceless if you were." I chuckled at the idea of it slowly dawning what the song version of him got up to trapped in that nest of dragons, though it seemed unlikely the bard would have escaped with his life.

"You'd think...concerns about my private life would have slowed," Cullen growled. He hadn't touched his tea, only glared it into submission like an errant soldier with a drooping shield. I reached over and gripped his fingers - at first he sat slack the anger simmering, but by a time he returned the touch.

The boy in Branson's lap suddenly perked up, his shoes kicking into the table as he asked, "Are you the...the...Inquil, Inkur..."

"Inquisitor," Branson said softly to his son. "It's pronounced In-Quiz-It-Tor. Remember?"

"I'd really prefer..." I began, but the boy had greater concerns than what to call me.

"Are you an elf?"

Every human held a breath, trying to watch me out of the corner of their eyes without making it evident. I finished my sip, then placed the mug down on the table before turning to the boy. His eyes honed in on me, that same amber shade as the rest of the family. Smiling, I said, "Yes, I am. Ears are usually a good giveaway."

"Oh," he nodded his head, then leaned forward, flopping out of his father's hands, "Do you wish you could be something else?"

If the tension was thick before, it shattered everyone now. Branson clung tight to his son, hissing something incomprehensible in his ear about being good while Cullen and Mia both sat rigid. She stirred her mug and Cullen glared at the boy. "What?" I coughed, clearing my throat, "What do you mean?"

Shrugging off his father, the boy sat forward, focused on me, "Watcha want to be if you could be anything? I'd be a big dragon!"

My laughter gurgled from the simple joys of childhood. I looked the child in the eye and said, "I knew a mage that could do just that. Turned into a dragon to help us save the day."

His eyes grew massive from that news, his lips quivering, "Did, did he breathe fire and fly around going woooshy swoop!"

"She breathed a magical sort of fire, and did a lot of flying. I don't remember the wooshy swoop but I was in the middle of battle at the time."

"Really!" the boy crawled across the table, his father only keeping him in place by his foot. "I should show you, Da can I show her? Please!" He flipped around waving his pudgy fingers before Branson's face.

The exhausted father shrugged to me, "Is it all right?"

"I suppose," I said. The boy didn't even need my forced resignation, he'd already climbed off Branson's lap and pulled on my arm. As my hand dropped down from his machinations, he slid his smaller palm inside mine, pulling with all his might. Sliding my legs out, I staggered to my feet while the child continued to pull me towards the open door. At the frame I turned back to catch the adult's eyes and said, "I'm a bit scared of what I just agreed to."

Before anyone could explain I was yanked out of house, pursing a three year old with the same determination of my commander.

"Will she be alright?" I asked, watching my nephew drag her out by the fingers.

"He knows better than to wander too far," Branson said. "They should return before the hour's up. Probably covered in mud."

That sounded like most of the ways I'd find her after a mission, mud splattered not just across her pants and armor but her hair and face. She'd just shrug it off as camouflage and fly repellent, then race me to a bath. It felt strange to confess I found my love more beautiful in that state, her hair ratted and muck smudging her face instead of cosmetics. But her eyes sparkled under it, the trappings of the forest bringing a life to her that the politics tried to dampen.

I pushed back my untouched tea and moved to rise off the bench, "Seems a good time to get to work before the distractions return."

"Indeed," Mia said, but she didn't rise nor did Branson. Instead they shared a look. "Shall I begin or..." she said.

Branson closed his eyes, shaking his head as he always did when trying to get away from her scheming, "This is your idea, not mine."

Mia folded her arms, "As if you don't agree with me."

"All right," I interrupted, aware when I was being talked through, "I'm still in the room, or should I leave with the Inquisitor?"

Mia sighed and squared her shoulders, "We..." Branson coughed, getting an eyefull from our sister, "Very well, I wanted to talk to you about, well, you."

"Me?" I leaned back, pointing at myself in case there was some other mysterious third brother.

"You and your future," Mia said, stretching out her sentence, "with her."

"Oh," I groaned, rising up, "not you too. My business is my own, and hers, and it should only be discussed between..."

"Would you sit down? For the Maker's sake, this is important," she said, shaking her head. I slid back onto the seat, my tailbone rattling. The bench was harder than I remembered when I was a child. "This cottage has sat abandoned for awhile, too long for its good. I don't have the time to come into town to look after it. Even getting away for now is a strain on my husband and the kids."

I nodded, "That's why we're all here, to prepare it for a new owner."

"But should we?" Mia asked.

I turned to my brother, who seemed to find something in the fire fascinating now. "I'm lost, you just listed why we must."

"You should take it, Cullen," she said.

"What? I have no use for a house. And it would be even harder for me to get out here to tend it. I'm lucky for the break I can get now."

She turned to Branson, who finally joined back in the conversation. He shrugged a shoulder, "It only seems fair for you to take the spare house. Mia got the farm, I most of the herd."

"Father only left you out of the will because you joined the Templars," Mia said, "But you're no longer with them."

"No, I'm with the Inquisition. That's my life."

My sister sighed the same one she would when I'd make a particularly idiotic move in chess, "For how long?"

"As long as I need to," I said, shifting in my seat. I'd anticipated more than enough embarrassing questions about my personal life from my sister but not this full frontal attack.

It was Branson who spoke next, his softer words throwing me off balance, "And then what? Do you anticipate the Inquisition being your end?"

"I, well..." I leaned back, massaging the back of my neck.

Mia shook her head, "What about the Inquisitor?"

"She's a part of my life now," I said, lost.

"Now being the key word, brother," Mia said. She staggered away from her seat, away from me, and limped around the room. Her fingers bounced against each other as she spoke, "I know you don't like to talk about yourself beyond what I can pry free, and this is your first real..." she waved her fingers for emphasis, " love, but it isn't kind of you to string someone along."

"I'm doing nothing of the sort!" I cried, rising up, but Mia only held up a hand, silencing me. She'd had this speech planned for awhile.

"So much of your life has been at the whims of others. First the Templars, then that Seeker whisking you off to the Inquisition."

"I'm doing my duty for..."

"When do you start living for yourself?" Mia interrupted, pausing in her pacing to stare into my eyes. "When do you settle down? Get married? Start a family?"

Her stripped voice caught me aback. The fight drained from my words, "Who said I even want to...? I haven't thought about- You're making a lot of assumptions!"

"What about her?" Mia nodded her head towards the door as if I had no idea who the her referred to. "Have you asked her what she wants?"

"Of course, in a way that's...things aren't so cut and dry with her being- You wouldn't understand," I flailed around the eternal bronto in the room between us. Of course I'd thought of a life with her, often while neck deep in political bullshit from some noble getting his golden slipper trod on. Something cozy and just the two of us without anyone else to interrupt with another vital report or to whisk her away to seal a rift or solve gentry squabbling. But I feared to voice the words, to ask her thoughts on the matter after she told me about the Dalish issues. It seemed cruel to force her to choose between losing her people or a future with me. She had enough problems already.

"Is this about the elf issue?" Mia cut across my thoughts as if she could read my mind.

"It's more than just an issue."

"Only if you make it. For the Maker's sake, Cullen. People can find love and togetherness across all kinds of barriers. You're already in the same social circle, whether you want to be or not. What's one more step?"

"Why are you forcing this issue? For the first time in my life I'm happy. Can that not be enough?"

Branson scooted forward, the whine of wood against wood drawing my attention. "We know you're happy." Mia scowled from his words, but Branson shook his head at her and continued, "But Mia is afraid, and I share her concern, that if you are not careful or make arrangements things could shift underneath you catching you unaware."

"You think someone's going to come along and topple the Inquisition?" I snorted, mentally calculating the might of the arm we'd built over the years. We were more than just that an army, people looked to us to rebuild so much of Thedas. We were needed.

Mia sighed, leaning against the table, her energy spent either pacing or trying to get through my 'thick skull.' "Just, take the damn house, okay. Fill it with children, or soldiers, or mabari for all I care. But, it'll do us both good to know you'll have somewhere to call home."

"I..." my sister's cursing caught me off guard as her eyes pleaded with me to listen for once.

"Da!" a child's scream broke from outside the house as the door burst open. He ran in, his face splattered in green and the woman behind him covered in a mix of red and blue paint. She wore a grin stretching ear to pointy ear and twirled a twig in her fingers.

"Andraste's pyre, what did you get up to?" Branson asked, unfurling our father's kerchief to try and wipe at the blue across his son's face.

My love tried to weasel out of her shoes, leaving them at the door as she said, "That's just between you and I, right?" She winked at the boy who giggled and blinked back.

While the two shared a conspiratorial aside loud enough to echo through the house, Mia leaned over my shoulder and whispered, "Think upon what I've said. Please." Before I could respond she shouted to everyone, "Come now, we have much to do to get this house in order. Who wants to begin in the attic?"

"Is it haunted?" the Inquisitor asked, getting an 'ooooh' from my nephew. "I've got just the thing for stopping ghosts," she said and flared the anchor for a moment drawing delightful applause from both the boy and my siblings. Only I watched silently, my own thoughts churning.

Cullen pulled me closer to him, my head crossing his sternum as I struggled to keep my body on the bed roll. Even curled up tightly and nearly on top of each other, it was a tight fit.

"Is this how all humans sleep?" I complained, struggling to right the now tangled blanket, "On the ground while inside a wooden box?"

He chuckled at me, his chest undulating and lulling my peevishness from the warmth wafted off him. "Normally we try a bed, but there are only the two in this house. When I grew too old to share, I'd come down here and sleep by the fire."

Cullen twisted a bit to stare at the embers still sparking in the hearth that just cooked one of the best venison stews I'd had in ages. Skyhold meals, with its fancy meats from across Orlais and Ferelden were nice but tethered, almost sterile at times. It was hard to beat a gamey stew made from whatever you could find in the stores. The haphazard flavors yank one back to the bone of home. I suspected Mia considered my continuous compliments a farce until I took to polishing up the cooking cauldron with my spoon.

"Early mornings," Cullen said wistfully, "Gran would somehow sneak past my dozing head to light the fire. I swore every time I'd wake and surprise her by striking the kindling myself."

"Did you?" I asked.

He smiled, his hand clutching mine tighter to his chest, "Once. Two days before I was to leave for Templar training. I'd only beaten her by five minutes at most, but it was enough for the look of shock on her face." His fingers lifted off my hand to run down my face, circling my tattoos which he seemed to have memorized. After a beat he asked, "Are you ever going to tell me how you got covered in paint?"

I shook my head softly, "Can't. It's a secret."

"What? Even to me?"

"Especially to you. Your nephew was very specific in his orders I not tell Uncle Cul. Seems you have a bit of a reputation for being a spoilsport."

My killjoy snorted at that apt description as he glanced across the room. "I was wondering, what do you think of the house?"

"The house? Not your sister, or brother, or the one I'm in a secret paint pact with? All right..." I tried to twist my neck to look around, but all I could see was a one eyed view of the stones and a floor piled high with packed crates shoved aside to fit us. "It's very...what's the nice way of saying small?"

"Cozy," Cullen said, his voice flat.

I shifted up, attempting to look into his eyes but they were churning through the ceiling with such concentration a pit burned in my stomach, "I didn't mean offense, I just...don't have a lot of house experience. It's either the massive room in Skyhold I share with ravens on occasion or an entire forest."

Cullen smiled wanly, rising a few inches to look at me. His hand caressed my exposed shoulder, "Of course, I simply..." He sighed his explanation dying. "You'd probably prefer running in the woods behind the house."

"There's a forest back there?" I cried, whipping my head around to try to see through the walls.

"Yes, trees as tall as mountains - or so I remembered as a child. And a pond crystal clear on bright blue days." At the exuberance wafting off me, he smiled and said, "I'm certain we could find some time during this week to slip back there and explore."

"That'd be perfect," I said, sliding up and planting a soft kiss on his surprised lips.

"Yes," he said, his fingers rubbing my arm, "perfect..." The words faded away as he stared at me, calculations whirring behind those eyes - the kind that usually ended in sappers being deployed. "I wanted to ask you, I mean I've been thinking...when it comes to, have you given much thought regarding...the future?"

"Blessed creators!" I cried, rising off him and sitting up. "Of course she told you. I should have bloody known!"

"She?" Cullen scooted forward, toppling me off the mat to the floor below. "Who told me? What are you..."

"Leliana," I spat, "I knew she was reading the mail from my clan, even when I ordered her not to. But to go behind my back and tell you..."

Concern and something darker dropped over the confusion as Cullen sat bolt upright, "I have no idea what you're speaking of. Leliana told me no such thing.

"Oh buggers," I muttered, dropping my head into my hands.

"A letter from your clan?" he prompted, now far too interested in my words.

I sat up, trying to explain, "I only received it right before we left. There wasn't even time for me to compose a response. And you were so worked up about this visit I didn't want to spook you, I guess." My hand patted his thigh buried below our only blanket, "I'm sorry."

"What was in this letter?" Cullen asked curtly.

"Good and bad from my mother," I said, tipping my head. "It finally happened. Rhodri gathered enough support he pulled about a third of the clan with him back into wandering through the woods, even stole a few aravels. Took him long enough after the massive windup."

"I see," Cullen said, giving away nothing.

"Of course, the rest of the clan's arguing amongst itself about the turn of events, acting as if it's a sign of the end times because that's what they're best at; bickering."

"And what do you intend to do about it?"

I blinked in the thin light, twisting to catch his face. Pain crinkled his brow and, in the shadows of the dying firelight, the bags below his eyes lengthened down his cheeks. "Do? I don't intend to do anything. Why would I...Oh," I pinched the bridge of my nose, mentally berating myself for not thinking ahead, "Oh no, Cullen. This isn't a problem. Not a problem for me. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to...this is why I was trying to save it for when we were back at Skyhold."

He folded his legs beneath him and laid his hands upon his thighs like he needed to steady himself for meditation. "So you won't be returning to your clan?"

Each word was spoken as if through a broken jaw, breath struggling to voice it, pain filling the question mark. I crawled across his lap and pulled his face to mine. His eyes tried to dart away, but I held him tight, "My place is with the Inquisition. We've done so much in the past year, and there's so much we can yet accomplish. As long as it remains, so do I."

His eyes slipped shut, but a smile climbed up his cheeks and he gripped tight onto my hand. "Of course."

"Besides, I didn't get to tell you the good news part. Another clan has moved into Wycome. Not as large as my own, but they're already acclimating to the city elves and the council atmosphere. The Keeper thinks she might get their First elected a new seat if she can sweet talk - her code for berate until they give up - the merchants into agreeing."

"That is good," Cullen said, sighing at the prospect of another clan jumping into the line of fire for my sake. "Was there anything else in the letter?"

"A few platitudes I should extend to some soldiers that assisted in that dam mess," I said trying to mentally scroll back through the hastily read note. "Oh, and my mother practically gleamed as she described the newest round of babies born across not only the clan but the city elves as well."

That drew a small chuckle from him and he looked over at me sitting on the frozen floor. Slipping back down, he slid over so I could join him again on the bed roll. I twisted to the side, laying my leg in between his and pawing the gaping neck of his far too large tunic. After a moment of silence I spoke, "My mother had to end on how much she adored having babies around and the most unbearable of hints that she would very much enjoy a grandchild or five. Save the world and suddenly I'm a walking womb to her," I snorted.

"That's, uh..." Cullen struggled under me, but I soothed him down.

"Don't worry, I drop a friendly reminder I'm with a shemlan and that'll kill her talk real quick."

It was a moment's breath before Cullen responded with an, "Oh. Good." I wanted to ask if he was okay, but he wrapped his arms around my body, clinging tight as if drawing strength from me. Silence fell save the crackle of the last log on the fire sputtering to its end.

"If it wasn't about the letter," I asked, "why were you asking me about the future?"

Cullen coughed, struggling to find words, "That, I was just-um..." his voice fell away as his head rose up and gazed around the room. "I was thinking that instead of losing this home, I might...take it."

"That's a brilliant idea," I said, lifting my head to his.

"Really?"

"We've been needing an Inquisition camp in this area, especially with all those reports of darkspawn and bandits you have. It'd provide a stopover between reconstruction in Haven and workers out of Redcliffe. A few of ours could keep watch over the place, use it to establish ourselves in the area with the locals..." Cullen nodded along with my planning, his eyes focusing downward. I paused in my Inquisitor machinations to touch his cheek, "And it'd be a perfect excuse for a certain Commander and Inquisitor to sneak off more. You have a family to catch up with, and there's a crystal clear pond for me to skinny dip in."

That drew a deep smile and a bright blush up his cheeks, both so achingly endearing it was a wonder I let that man outside with pants. He tipped down, his lips pressing into mine with an urgency I didn't expect. As I returned the kiss, his lips softened - accepting that I was here to stay. We both froze as a noise clomped above us, reminding us we were far from alone. Cullen shrugged, but pecked me once more on my lips before sliding back down to the bed roll. I followed him, curling up onto his chest, sleep tugging at me.

"Cullen," I said, my head bobbing with his breaths.

"Yes?"

"There's something I've been wanting to ask you, needing to ask you for awhile now, but I was worried how you'd take it."

"Oh?" he squeezed me tighter, clasping me to him.

I steadied my own breath, preparing for the embarrassment of the question burning in my brain. "What is the name of your nephew? I know he said it, but..."

Cullen laughed, a deep one that rolled me up on his chest until I was chuckling with him. "Maker's breath, I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," I said, "but give me an answer. I can't call him boy, or child, or 'hey, you' for an entire week."

With one arm guarding me against falling to the floor he told me, as well as the names of Mia's children, Branson's wife, and all about his other sister. Rather than drift off to sleep, I spent most of the night being inducted into his family while the scent of venison stew and the soft glow of firelight circled the room. It was perfect.


	17. Moment of Solace

I massaged my neck, working out the "bowed in reverence" crick and stepped through the re-opened gates. That drew the attention of the Inquisition soldiers flanking that damn mirror. Neither the Orlesian nor Ferelden forces were evident in the courtyard, but I felt the prick of some of the other guests eyes upon me. Josephine's warning words rang in my head. "Play the part. You've already endangered negotiations by running off twice." I made it through two hours of Teagan and Cyril talking around each other like geese hissing for a fight neither will start. That had to count for something. At least it deserved a break.

Rounding down the blue stairs, a sight brought a real smile to my tight jaw. Cullen stood swamped by our soldiers, his commanding presence cowing some of them, but his new friend kept nudging him in the leg for attention. After returning a report and giving a curt response, Cullen's hand dropped down to scritch along the dog's slobbery face and came back with a ball. Sighing, he tossed it towards the fountain, the dog scrabbling into expensive tiles to give chase. More than a few Orlesians cried out at the massive splash of a dog bellyflopping into the water to return with its prize.

I clomped less than gracefully towards them, getting a bark from the still nameless pooch. Cullen spun around and sighed, "There you are. Are negotiations finished or...?"

"What do you think?" I sighed, rolling my head back towards the shuttered gates. This went from a pomp dance to appease nobles into a possible all out war with the Qun. It was probably why no one invited me to their home unless they were already in trouble, or were trying to kill me. To think, the last time I was at the Winter Palace it was just some light assassination and the occasional demon. And those were supposed to be the bad days. Still, at least I could smile from one good memory here.

Moving close enough his ill fitting finery brushed against my hand, I whispered, "I came to see my husband." Cullen's grin stretched his cheeks wide, then his eyes flared in panic.

He leaned into me, appearing the calming image of a commander whispering hurriedly with the Inquisitor. Not at all something alarming to the people watching our every move. "Are we...I thought we were going to keep it secret until- Not that I don't want to tell everyone. I..."

Placing my finger to my lips, I smiled at him. That clammy stammer slipped to a blushing grin. Nodding a curt dismissal to the soldiers, he gestured in the direction of a quiet spot off the gardens. Of course the dog toddled behind, water dripping in puddles with every wag of its nobby tail.

I took the time to nod to a few people, smiling with the look of someone unconcerned about the invasion prodding through mirrors across southern Thedas. The nobility still bowed but their smiles were tight, their movements jagged. No one was happy.

We moved towards a stand of fronds framing a statue of someone. Probably someone important I should know, but Josie wasn't here to quiz me. Slipping into the dark sanctuary, as far from prying eyes as one could get these days, I said, "Given the complete and utter shit storm we've uncovered, it's probably best to save the official announcement until later. Someone's bound to be angry because we didn't invite the lord Comte de Fart Face and challenge us for ur honor." I slipped my arms over his shoulders, hoisting myself onto my toes.

Cullen steadied me, as he always did, and caught me in a marital kiss. Would I ever get used to that word? He seemed as surprised, occasionally during the council meetings mouthing 'wife' as if he was learning Tevinter and uncertain of the pronunciation.

"So long as we're on the same page," he said, his hands knotting behind my waist. He had no intention to let go soon.

Wrapped around him, I nodded, "I've only told Cassandra."

"What?" Those honey eyes - my husband's eyes - widened, but there was only surprise, no anger. It seeped from him over the years leaving behind contentment and an exhaustion we now shared.

Shrugging, I said. "She asked. You can't lie to the Divine, that's a like nine years back luck."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Sera...who also knows. Probably because I told Varric, and Dorian. Bull's been hinting, but in that 'I know shit because I'm Ben-Hassrath, but won't come out and say it' way. And Cole gave me an iron horseshoe as a gift. Not really sure there." I paused, taking stock of just how many people I'd tipped my hand to. This was why I kept losing at Wicked Grace. "Are you mad?"

Cullen's soft smile warmed my toes. He placed his forehead against mine, whispering in that infernal and adorable way of his, "I'd tell the entire world myself if I could. But, since you've informed Varric, there isn't much need now."

I couldn't hide the gleam in my eye, "That was the plan all along."

He chuckled at my baldfaced lie and risked another kiss before we were spotted by anyone else who wanted to yell at the Inquisitor today. Breaking away, he asked, "So, Mrs. Rutherford..."

"Mrs. Rutherford?" I reared back from him, my hands sliding down those arms holding me tight, now and forever. "I don't remember agreeing to take your name."

A blush crawled along his neck at my mock outrage. Some thing's never change. Cullen glanced up towards the sky as if hoping an answer would land upon him, then back to me, "Can I, may I even take yours? I mean, given the difference in- I don't want to step on too many toes."

"Since when?" I laughed, gesturing to the throngs of Orlesians and Fereldens alike rattling their sabers at the Commander. My Commander. My husband. I hoped I'd never tire of that. "No, I was thinking I'd call you Mr. Inquisitor."

"Mr. Inquisitor? Ha! I can live with that."

"Now that that's decided, we should talk about where we intend to live and how many children there will be. Ten is a good number, I believe. We could raise our own battalion of forward scouts, light as feathers in the field."

I expected another round of blushing and stammering, but Cullen smirked at me and I gulped. "Whatever you want, dear," he smiled, trying to patronize me. Oh shit, he had to know I was kidding. It- that wasn't something we even talked about. Did he really want that many children? He cracked a laugh at the panic in my eyes, unable to maintain his facade. A warmth filled my cheeks from both relief, and embarrassment that I fell for it. Rather than let me suffer long, he planted a soft kiss on my forehead. "Plenty of time to figure that out once this is all done. Though, I hope at least one will want to pick up the old man's sword."

Sliding my hands around that velvet finery almost bursting under Cullen's insistence he would not waste time getting fitted, I placed my mouth inches from his ear and whispered, "No finer time than now to get some of the practice in for making one."

Now I got the panic I'd hoped for, but there was hunger beneath it. It hardly seemed fair to spend one's honeymoon running around the deep roads destroying Qunari mines. Cullen's eyes darted out to the flocks of people standing a polite distance away from us. "What, now? Here?"

My eyebrows shot up, emphasizing my pretend surprise, "I didn't know you liked an audience?"

"I don't. I wouldn't, I just... You know, that won't always work on me."

Sliding my fingers down that knot of stomach muscle, his hips, and stopping at his upper thigh, I whispered, "I know what works quite well."

He didn't care that people peered back at the pair of shadows frolicking in the fronds; with one arm scooping behind my back, he pulled me up and devoured me into a kiss. I reached up to run my fingers in his hair when...

No. No, no, no no no! Not now! Hissing in rage, rift energy shattered my hand. Pain rampaged up my arm as if someone snapped the bone and kept twisting. I tried to hold back the scream, stumbling back from Cullen and curling my hand to my chest. I shook my fist in impotent rage, binding it closer to my chest. Sweat percolated from the expenditure to get it under control. As soon as it hit, the pain evaporated, the green light fading with it.

But now I faced a new kind of pain, Cullen's eyes boring into me with the same hurt of an abandoned dog. "Are you all right? What was that?"

"I'm fine," I hissed, willing the damn thing to stop.

He reached for my fingers, and I let him unroll my clenched fist. Bits of rift energy rolled out, digging needles into my skin. I tried to bury the pain behind a laugh, tears prickling in my eyes from the effort.

"When did it start hurting you?" he asked, cupping that cursed thing in his own hands.

"It always did a little," I said. "But...it's been getting worse." I couldn't face those eyes. If I could control it, just burn off the energy in time, then maybe it...maybe...

Cullen brought the anchor to his lips and kissed it. I almost yanked my hand back, terrified that it could burst across his face. And that idea, that I was too scared to touch my own husband, finally broke the manacled tears. I fell into his arms, or perhaps he pulled me in. We moved together, Cullen enveloping me to his chest and I scrabbled to find a port in this storm. My touchstone that brought me back from the brink to a promise of something worth fighting for.

"Ma Vhenan," he said, still butchering the pronunciation. But I didn't care - everything the Dalish knew it was...How did Solas put it? Fragments of fragments? We didn't even get those fragments right. And now, now magic from my own people was ripping my skin apart, shattering the possibility of a future.

"Cullen," I cried, sobbing into his tunic. "What if I can't stop this? What if...?"

He locked his arms around me tighter than any barricade, as if his sheer willpower would keep any harm from coming to me. "Vivienne could craft something to combat it," he insisted, his voice shallow, "A potion, she's skilled at distillation. Or Dorian. He'd use his influence in Tevinter. There has to be a book or scroll about the anchor. Something that..."

I couldn't give him the answer he wanted, the assurance that this would all work out. That I could pull off some cunning plan at the last second. I'd stood before ancient, immortal magisters, fought inside a titan below the Deep Roads, destroyed a god inside a dragon...again! To have my own hand kill me now, when I finally had this. A cruel chuckle escaped my throat, and I couldn't stop from airing my dark thought, "It's so cliche to kill the bride on her wedding day. It'd make Varric blush."

Cullen didn't laugh at my gallows humor. His grip pinned me closer, the front of his finery now well soaked through. A warm breath ruffled my hair as he whimpered, "Maker, no; not now. Please, please not now. He can't take you now."

Tears dribbling from his eyes were matched in kind with my own. I dabbed at mine, then tried to wipe away his, softly cupping that same cheek I did before laying bare what grew in my heart. "I love you," I whispered again. I thought there'd be time. That I could say it a thousand times more, a thousand more kisses, a couple thousand more hugs. But now... "Don't forget me," it was selfish and poorly timed, but the words slipped out.

"Andraste's grace," Cullen cried, "don't say that. Don't even think it. We'll find an answer. After you deal with the Qunari threat and there's time to..." his words trailed off at the sight of me. I couldn't face him, my eyes sinking in from the weight building in my chest. There wasn't time. Not anymore.

"I don't know what to do." He broke, the man who fought until his fingers were bloody to fix a problem, no longer had an answer.

"Just hold me and tell me you love me." It wasn't what he wanted to hear, it wasn't what I did either, but Cullen slid his arms around my waist doing what I commanded. My head rested upon his shoulder, bobbing with his jagged breaths as he tried to steady his voice.

"You are a light I didn't even know was out in my life. Even at my lowest you believed in me, gave me strength...loved me. I-" he strangled back a sob and continued, "I love you and wish I was better at this. Had the words to tell you how scared I am to live in a world without...Maker, I wish Varric was here."

The final decree caught a laugh from me and I lifted my head. Ruddiness burned up his cheeks and nose while the skin below his eyes blackened. That pale skin never reacted well to crying. I skimmed my fingers across it, trying to wipe away the pain as if I had Cole's abilities. Perhaps, when...if I fall, compassion could be there to take Cullen's pearl of pain away. He reached up to catch my fingers, his hand encompassing mine. Always there to shield me, to protect me, to hold me.

"You're the best thing I could have hoped for," I said to him. His eyes rolled upward, but I caught his chin, focusing him upon me, "If this is the end, then I'm thankful to whoever's listening that I could spend it with you."

Before the tears could fall anew from either of us, I dipped his head down for our possible last kiss. Salty tears bit into my lips as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me ever tighter. This could be it, the end of everything. At least for a moment, it could be good. "Come with me," I whispered. "Be with me."

He blinked, trying to understand what I meant. When it triggered, he shook his head, "You can't be serious."

"One more reason to be grateful I'm alive? To touch your body, feel you inside me? I can't think of anything better."

"That is..." his head turned away, unable to find the words to voice his own emotional tumult. But I knew him. When the time came, when we stood at the edge, he'd be my rock there to hold back the shores pounding to wear us away. Now, however...

"Cullen," I said, "for now, in this moment, let me be your wife and you be my husband. Please."

At the end of everything, when we both stood upon the precipice facing the unknown, we paused and breathed in each other, trying to memorialize every curve and line of our bodies melded together. And I doubt Vivienne minded too much that we borrowed her bed.


	18. Moment of Ending

He stood vigil before the slit window looking across the gate, watching the wagons loaded down with the trappings of the Inquisition leave Skyhold. The sight drew a smile to my lips as he was supposed to be packing. His shadow slumbered on the floor, huffing as he chased fireballs, his paddling paws tearing up the blanket that used to be on his master's bed. Softly I closed the door, cutting off the summer air blowing through. Cullen didn't hear, his body leaning closer to the window spying something interesting happening in the courtyard.

Somewhere down there was an agitated ex-ambassador trying to get everyone in line and marked so this would go easier. Too bad half of them were still hung over from the eternal goodbye and good luck celebrations. Why pack the alcohol when you could drink it and save on space? Josephine herself polished off an entire bottle of whiskey, tears dribbling down her cheeks as she belted out a song in Antivan. After the third round of it, she managed to get Bull to sing along, shaking his horns to her erratic beat. It would take another month before we'd be finished with the deconstruction, but every day Skyhold felt more abandoned than when we found it. People who greeted me every morning returned to their homes far across seas I'd only seen on maps. Sculptures I stopped seeing vanished in the night, leaving behind another hole to be filled with crates. And some historian ran around collecting all the banners slapping against stones, insisting they must be preserved.

Sliding onto my toes, I crept towards the ex-Commander far too enraptured in the commotion to hear the Dalish woman slinking around in his office. Holding my left arm tight to my chest, I skirted around his desk, falling into his peripheral vision. He must have been deep in thought as he still didn't turn. My fingers caressed up his back, wrapping around the curls falling across his neck. Only a soft tremor shook his body from the surprise; he was growing used to his wife's soft feet. I stood upon my toes to see over his shoulder, using my right hand as ballast. A dozen horses paraded in what was probably supposed to be a formation, while Master Dennet threw his hands in the air. Perhaps it wasn't going so well.

Cullen sighed, capturing my fingers in his own. "I can hardly believe it's over."

"It's not over yet," I said, my lips whispering against his cheek.

His face lifted in a smile and he turned from the stables emptying of horses to face me. "No?" he rubbed up and down my right arm, "Soldiers dismissed, ravens released, political ties cut. Seems certain."

I smirked, "Has anything I've done ever been certain?"

"Aside from marrying me?" he asked, that sweet but painful smile slotting into place. "No. Not at all." Cullen slipped his arm around my waist, his fingers working in circles around the small of my back. No more Inquisition pajamas dulled my nerves to the touch, through the light cotton I could feel him properly. His eyes dipped down to my left hand - no, not hand, arm. "How is it?"

"Hurts like shit if I bump it, or touch it, or a breeze hits it," I said. He frowned from the truth. It took all my best arguments and promises for him to let me away from the healers so I could confront the Exalted Council. I had at best a few minutes of speech and posturing before I was back by his side, begging for something to kill the pain.

"That remaining mage says it's healing well. Cleanest cut he's ever seen. Probably because it wasn't cut," I mused, lifting the still bandaged limb up. Cullen cupped his hands around my forearm, keeping far away from the throb that died down until I instinctively tried to reach for something I could no longer pick up. Time - everyone kept telling me I'd need it to adjust, and soon I wouldn't even notice I lost the anchor along with my hand. Funny how it was always people with both hands telling me that.

I cupped my husband's face with my remaining hand, fingers parting through his stubble now reaching into beard territory. Something about being free of worry, duty, the Inquisition carried over to his toilet as well. Even his hair was allowed to return to its natural state, the curls wadding around his round ears. "At least this gets me out of having to pack," I joked, waving my stump around. "People are bending over backwards to collect my things and carry them for me."

Cullen chuckled leaning his forehead to mine and closing his eyes. His voice grew even softer while we marched away from the Winter Palace. I'd expected anger at my decision taking away his sense of purpose, but it seemed to bring forth the exact opposite. He looked free, a smile lifting his cheeks whenever he'd turn to find me by his side, struggling to stay on the damn horse and keep my stump as far from anything as possible.

"I am afraid I do not have that luxury," he said, gesturing to the bookshelves still half full. Crates were overstuffed with some of his office - the bric and brac of leading an army being packed and sent to whoever could make use of them. Josephine found buyers for our used things before we'd even left Halamshiral.

"Wasn't this all supposed to be loaded up before tomorrow?" I asked, prodding my foot against a crate and hearing the hollowness.

Cullen lifted one shoulder and smiled slyly. "I've been preoccupied," he said, "with my beautiful wife."

Laughing, I leaned my shoulder into him - the crush of his old leathers more forgiving than the armor now secured in a special box. "That's no excuse," I said, even as I kissed his lips for the dozenth of dozens time since returning to Skyhold. We abandoned the pretense of formality, no matter how weak it had been, stealing moments every chance we found - both aware of how close we came to almost losing everything. Cullen wasn't the only one with night terrors anymore.

Wiping away the worry, I smiled and slipped away from his warm arms. His desktop was nearly cleared off save three boxes. One was open and stacked high with the books and papers that used to fill it. The other box looked much the same as the rest littering Skyhold, worn wood hammered quickly in place, but shredded straw covered whatever lay inside. Curiosity was one of my worst vices, and I dug through the straw, trying to find whatever was inside.

Cullen turned away from the window to catch me, "That isn't necessary! It's nothing important for the..."

"What is this?" I stuttered, trying to lift up the garish, golden object. I only managed a few inches before it slipped from my fingers, clanging against the bottom of the box.

Sighing, Cullen reached into the box. "There's no reason for you to see this." Even through his protestations, he still unearthed it for me, sliding straw away to reveal a massive mouth gawping at me. It looked like someone gilded a bear forever imprisoning it in a yawn. Fur strode down the back of it, reaching like a mane around the back of the head. I eyed up the monstrous thing cupped in his hands, then turned to my husband. For good measure I did it again, emphasizing my need for an explanation.

"It's a helmet," he said, shifting it in his hands.

"That's a helmet?! I thought you beheaded a statue."

He flattened his lips from my tone, "It was to go with my armor. The fur's the same as the pauldrons." To show it off, he ran his fingers down the back, fluffing up bear fur far less ragged and sun bleached than what he'd worn every day.

I eyed up the helmet, slightly terrified it might surge forward and take a bite at me. "Do...do you often wear animal heads upon your own?"

Cullen shook his head, glaring at the monstrous thing, "I didn't purchase it. As I said, it came with the armor."

Growing more bold, I reached out, running the edge of my pinkie along a tooth. It was colder to the touch than I expected - though, given my life, feeling hot breath and the pulse of blood wasn't beyond the reach. "I can see why you never wore the thing. Casualties from people falling over the battlements in laughter would have been staggering."

He snorted, rolling his eyes at me, but placed the helmet back in its box, shredding even more of the straw overtop to hide it.

"If you didn't buy it, then who did? It came with your armor, right?"

Now he shifted on his shoes. "I spent much of my life in the order," he began, not explaining anything. "You're given the uniform, you become the uniform, there's no need for other clothing. The armor is for life," he sighed, his head tipping down. So many possibilities lay before him, and - like a child in a candy store - a part of him was terrified to try any for fear of spoiling all. He wasn't the only with more choices and questions than decisions, but at least we could stumble together.

Rubbing his shoulders, I pulled those amber eyes to me. "It was Cassandra, wasn't it?"

"She said it looked intimidating," he said, his fingers rolling across my own. I chuckled at the idea of the imposing Seeker tossing him the helmet and insisting he put it on to check the fit. Maybe she even insisted there be a portrait done of him wearing it all, for posterities sake. Oh, I'd pay to see that.

"Not keeping it with the rest of your things upstairs?" I asked, jerking my head up to his loft where absolutely nothing was packed, not that there was much to begin with. A few trinkets from Mia, a chess set from Dorian, and a couple personal books. He almost traveled lighter than me.

Cullen chuckled, "You're not getting me to wear it, don't even try."

"Hm," I picked at the box's edge, worrying out a splinter, "I was thinking you in the helmet, your surcoat, and nothing else." I ended with the cheekiest grin I could manage, and slowly eyed up and down his body.

"Surcoat yes, helmet no."

"That ruins all the fun," I cut back, throwing my hand and stump in the air. He smiled, catching my fingers and pulling me towards him for a kiss.

"It's what I'm known for," Cullen whispered in my ear, his voice soft with desire. Slowly, he drew his fingers across the indentation of my collarbone and down my flimsy tunic.

I was about to give in to his misdirection when something about the third package caught my eye. It wasn't the same crates as the others, and was wrapped in a mishmash of yellowing papers coated in ink drawings. Tacked to the edge was a tag with a drawing of bees on it. "What's that?" I asked, pointing to the new curiosity.

Cullen sighed, his exploring fingers landing upon my hip as he turned to see what I pointed to. "Oh," his voice fell flat and noncommittal, as if he had to speak to a mess of nobles about his bedroom activities, "it's a gift."

"A gift?" I reached over to the box and picked it up. It was lighter than I expected, the paper crackling below my fingers. "Why haven't you opened it?"

"See who it's from," he said.

I twisted around the box until the tag flipped over, revealing the letters SeRa. "Ah," I said, nodding my head in solidarity. "It can't be that bad."

Cullen blinked, "Then you open it."

"But it's your gift," I said, stumbling right into his trap. He probably even left it out right there to snare me. Damn that handsome and devious brain. "And it wouldn't be right for me to open presents specifically meant for you."

He smiled, a cruel one he would pay dearly for later. "We are married, what's mine is yours and all that. So please, go right ahead. 'It can't be that bad.'"

I knew when I was licked. Sighing, I inched the gift closer to the edge of the desk and pushed my elbow on it to hold it steady. With my hand, I tore at the shreds of paper, small doodlings of our friends and enemies scattering in the wind. Cullen stood behind me, his hands cupped around my stomach as he watched - and in case he needed to yank me away from whatever was inside.

Steadying myself, I ripped off the last of the paper and glanced into the box. Plain white cloth rested inside, folded in the shape of a triangle. Confusion pulled my eyebrows as I picked up the edge. "What is..." I began, twisting back to my husband.

He looked just as lost, his own fingers running along the fabric when realization and then horror rampaged across his face. "Is that my small clothes?!"

I had to twist my head to the side, but sure enough, there were the two holes for the legs and the folding flap in the front. I wasn't certain how he could tell the difference between his and anyone else's, but human's underthings were a whole new world for me.

Cullen yanked them from my hand, holding the pair outstretched, "How did she even get them? Why?"

In the light, I caught the why. Snickering, I pointed that he should turn them around. Mid-rage and confusion, Cullen did as I ordered and his jaw fell open at the rather lovely embroidering across the ass part that now proclaimed the owner to be Mr. Inquisitor. Sera hadn't lined it up well, so the -tor reached around the side and she added a few little yellow and green flowers that butted up against the fly.

He flipped his small clothes around a few more times, as if that would somehow make the embroidery vanish, then he leaned over me to look in the rest of the box. "There are even more in here," he dumped the gift out onto the table scattering the rest of his underthings all now marked to proclaim him either Mr. Inquisitor, Lavellan's, or Hubby Wubby. The color of the thread changes, sometimes mid-word, but the handwriting was all the same massive loops that leaned to the left. "Maker's sake," he muttered, trying to gather it all up. "It's every pair but the one I'm wearing."

I leaned over, staring at his backside, "Are you certain she didn't get those?"

Cullen's hand reached towards his own ass, as if terrified the Red Jenny somehow made off with them. Smiling, I picked up the first pair - the embroidery a lovely green.

"Why must that woman live to embarrass me?" Cullen sighed, trying to wad up all his small clothes into the tightest ball.

I shook my head, passing the last one back to him, "I don't think she is."

"She stole my only underthings and then wrote upon them. What else would you call that?!"

I shrugged, "She did the same to me."

"What? Really?" Now he glanced down the back of me, as if he could see through clothing.

I nodded, "After Verchel. She said it was good to have one's name on your underthings so no one else would steal it and sell 'em. I think, for Sera, this is a sign she likes you."

Cullen grumbled a few curses under his breath, but his mood broke. This wasn't a prank of hers, but a true gift from the heart. It made as much sense as anything with her. After a moment he looked up at me, "I've never seen your name upon any of your...under clothing." Over two years together, now married, and he still blushed. My stomach fluttered from how damn adorable that man could be.

Smiling, I tipped my head, "She said she couldn't get Inquisitor to fit on the ass of my small clothes, so she stitched it onto one of the undershirts. I would only wear it in the field, for good luck. It seemed to help," I shrugged at the inanity of my personal ritual. "I always came back."

"Yes, you did," Cullen sighed. Dropping his ransacked underwear to the side, he pulled me into his arms. I reached my arm around his shoulders, laying my head against the lack of fur, as he wrapped his fingers behind my back. "I suppose I should thank her, then. To be without you..." His voice fell away, terrified to voice the fear that nearly broke both of us.

Stepping through that mirror as my hand burned through my body was the hardest thing I'd ever done. Not because of the Qunari forces I faced at the other end, but not knowing if I would never see him again. I have no idea how he managed to let me go, but when I stepped back out he gave me the tightest hug imaginable, joy blinding him to the fact my arm was now gone.

I caressed his cheek, following the trail of my fingers with a kiss. "Never, in a thousand years did I think I'd..."

"Marry a shemlan?" he interrupted, smiling softly, sadly, sweetly.

Pulling those amber eyes to me, I smiled, "Find you."

He pressed his forehead to mine, his voice a breath away as he whispered, "Nor I you." We sealed our sweet everythings in a kiss. There were still so many problems ahead, things to solve, and, at the moment, Solas seemed the least of them. Cullen took the dalish part of me in stride, but he knew we'd have to tell my clan at some point. And I could tell it ate at him, the worry festering in his gut of how they would deal with it. It didn't touch me, no matter how my mother or anyone else reacted, I knew in my heart I had my husband and he'd stand by my side through it all.

Glancing down at Sera's gift, an idea took hold. "We're likely to never return back here," I said.

Cullen sighed, as if preparing for another melancholy "Those were the days" drunk speech, but the fire in my words stumbled him. He twisted his head, waiting for me to continue.

I caressed my fingers across the desk. "Be a shame to pack up and leave without having one more go on it." Now he grinned wide, the dark mood shattering. "For old time's sake?" I asked, holding out my hand. Cullen placed it upon his shoulder, then slid both his hands under my butt. Lifting me easily onto the desk, he pushed aside the boxes with one hand - his dreaded helmet cracking to the floor. But Cullen didn't notice, his lips dancing over the exposed flesh on my neck and chest as I lay back.

My right hand clung to the back of his neck, twirling around that curly hair. His passion broke for a moment and he blinked above me, "I love you."

"I love you too," I said, "now let's get to the sex."

He chuckled at my impertinence, his hands moving with much more purpose than our first time. Together, we slid further along the desk, until he put both our weight upon it. I reached up to try and lift the end of his shirt when a soft crack reverberated below us.

Cullen paused, his eye widening even as he shook his head. "No, that can't-"

The ground fell away, both of us crashing into each other. The back of my head smacked into the desk, and Cullen's forehead crumpled against my sternum as the desk's legs fell through the floor. The floor someone took the time to weaken.

"SERA!" we both screamed.

Somewhere in Skyhold, her giddy laugh carried for three days.

More to come...


	19. Moment of Gain

Birds swooped through the white stones of the roof reaching so high into the sky they butted against the breach. I craned my head back to try and spy the tail coloring on a hawk when I heard a gasp from the man beside me. He broke his hold on my hand that he clutched the moment we got off the boat. His eyes only glanced once towards the floating island off the harbor, a hollow shudder shaking him. After that it was straight to Hightown, when we didn't get horribly lost in Darktown, wander into a cave, kick a few spiders the size of nugs, wander into another cave identical looking to the first, and find ourselves on a shore overlooking the waking sea.

"We don't have to go inside," I whispered to him. The massive door was cracked open, letting people in and out at their leisure. A guardsman stood watch, tipping her head and smiling at the people and waving cheery greetings. This felt so far removed from every memory he told me of Kirkwall I feared we got the city wrong.

"No," Cullen shook his head, struggling to lift a smile to his cheeks, "I am fine. And we need to...we can enter. It will be fine."

Pressing my fingers into his palm, I shook our conjoined hands once then pulled him through the door. "Feenhedis," I cursed, overwhelmed by the massive splendor stretched above my head, "this place is three times the size of Skyhold."

"It's not that impressive," Cullen muttered, shifting on his shoes. He glanced around the staircases filled with milling Marchers in various economic states of dress. Even a few elves in familiar alienage garb hovered beside a statue of a bird with its head missing. Someone put a box on its neck and wrote "Caw" on it in bright red paint.

"They've changed the carpeting," Cullen mused to himself before shaking his head. "If he's here, he'll be in the back."

Having a job before him, even if it was one he partially dreaded, drove Cullen forward. Still clinging to my hand like a pair of indecent lovers, he pulled me up those re-carpeted stairs and down a hall. More guards milled to the right, shooting the breeze - a pair even played Wicked Grace smack dab in the middle of an ante chamber. We never got that relaxed in the Inquisition, I thought. Then again, if it wasn't an archdemon's fire, it was demon armies, or empress assassinations. Much easier to kick back and relax when your biggest concern is a merchant stubbing his toe on the way to your gilded throne.

Cullen drew us up beside another door - this one shut tight while a man kept sentry outside threatening all passerby's with his mighty clipboard. My heart suddenly ached for an Antivan ambassador and her quill of doom.

"State your business," the clipboard said, running his finger along a line of lists.

"We need to see the Viscount," Cullen answered.

"As do most who come here, unless they're trying to find the bathroom. For what purpose?"

"That's private," he said, those golden eyes honing in on the man's weak spots. Too bad bureaucracy had none.

"Bully for you, Sirrah, but that doesn't gain you entrance."

Cullen flipped back to me, but I held up my stump. I probably could have waved it around and pulled out the Inquisitor card, but judging by the abundance of over-importance wafting off the man, I wasn't about to get anywhere. Besides, I wasn't the one who was once the Knight-Commander here.

At that moment, the door cracked open and a familiar sneer poked through the hole. "His eminence requires another set of clippers because he, once again, shattered a pair trying to cut through the crown." Bran glanced up from his man to catch my eye. Somehow his face managed to fall even further than from the clippers incident. "Oh, it's you. I'm assuming you are not expected."

I shrugged, "It's hard to say in these exciting times."

The provisional viscount sighed, then stepped back, holding the door open. "Just...don't drag him off on any adventures. We have much to accomplish today and he's in the mood to do it - for once."

Dropping my grip on Cullen, I nodded at the man with the clipboard and slipped through the door. My husband followed behind, whispering, "I've never actually been in here before..."

This throne room made mine look like someone hauled up a chair from an abandoned cellar and tossed it to the back of the room - oh wait, that was what we did. White marble reached three stories above our heads, carved in the Kirkwall seal everyone seemed to wear to end in a seat no butt currently filled. Instead, a much more padded and comfier chair sat at the bottom of the empty dais. The Viscount even had a footrest placed before it, though it was currently filled with papers leaning precariously on edge. Beside him stood a woman with a shock of red hair folded back into a loose bun. She wore typical guard armor, but it was her bearing that yanked me back to the Temple of Sacred Ashes when a Seeker held a blade to my throat for killing the Divine. I would never want to cross Cassandra, not even now, but this woman scared the soul from me. The dwarf sitting on his armchair throne barely paid her any mind.

"No," she said, shaking her head and sneering.

"You can't say no to the Viscount."

She folded her arms across her chest, "I believe I just did. No."

"They'll barely even notice it's missing," Varric's wheedling died away as he turned to catch me walking across his carpet. "Andraste's tits, what are you doing here?" he shouted.

"It's good to see you too, Varric," I smiled, pausing my gait then gesturing around. "Nice throne room you have, very cozy and intimate."

He jumped off his chair throne, knocking over the tower of papers and ran towards me. Gripping palms, our handshake turned into a half hug, then a full one. "I keep trying to sell off parts of it, a little fruit stand would do wonders over there, but the council won't budge," Varric said waving his hand around.

"Ever feel the urge to stand here and shout echo at the top of your lungs?" I asked, glancing around at the massive space. It was so wide, a small terror crawled up my spine from the insignificance it radiated. How could anyone feel like anything other than a spec in the world's eye in here?

Varric winked at me, more than likely his echoing was to pass the time or piss off Bran - perhaps both. Then his eyes rolled up to Cullen. He twisted his head to the side, then covered one eye, "That can't be. No way."

"What?" I turned to my husband, watching to make certain he didn't suddenly combust or something. The stories of Kirkwall's blood magic were probably exaggerated, but...

"There's no way that's Curly. No armor, no sword, and no sneer. What'd you do with the real one?"

Cullen grumbled, folding his arms and glaring at the sky.

"Oh, there he is," Varric snorted, then turned back to the red haired woman. "Shit, Inquisitor, this is Aveline - the scariest fucking guard captain you'll ever have the displeasure to meet."

She snarled at the Viscount in a proud way, but then her eyes pierced through my soul, trying to size me up, "You're the one that fixed the sky."

I smiled at her, "That's what they say."

"Don't care what they say. They tend to say a lot of shit, especially when they are Varric."

Cullen chuckled at Aveline's unimpressed response, "The years have done little to dull you Guard Captain."

"Knight Captain," she said, tipping her head. That drew a blanch from both Cullen and me. We opened our mouths to correct her, but she was ahead of us, "Oh, right, it's Commander now."

"No, just Cullen," he said, extending his hand. Aveline gripped it, shaking it once - the two of them sharing a harried glance I'd seen from other battle hardened soldiers. It was usually given across a decrepit pub before both combatants returned to the drinking.

"They're retired," Varric threw in, then he snapped his fingers, "Oh Bran!"

"Yes, your worship?" he asked, sliding forward from the shadows. I tried to not jump - I all but forgot he remained in the room.

"There's a package in my office, in the medium sized chest - I know you've got a copy of the key. It's for the Inquisitor. Go up and get it."

Bran's narrow eyes slipped over me, then back to his Viscount, "We still have much to discuss about..."

"The quicker you get up there and bring it back to me, the faster we can get through your never ending piles of shit," Varric said.

Bran sighed, "Very well." Accepting defeat as gracefully as he did anything else, he slunk out of the room - shutting the door louder than necessary.

"Varric...?" I asked.

"Just wait," he said, "it's a surprise. Speaking of surprises, what brings you to Kirkwall? Finally get tired of the turnips?"

"Ferelden is more than turnips," Cullen sighed, getting an approving nod from Aveline.

"We're on our way up to Wycome," I said diplomatically, "thought to stop by Kirkwall and say hello."

Varric nodded his head as if he'd been expecting us, then turned to Cullen, "Off to see the in-laws? Hope you brought a big shield."

Breath poured out of Cullen's nose but he smiled through the grimace, "It will be fine."

"Uh huh," Varric said, eyeing up the two of us, "Do they know about your hand, or the fact you lost your arm?"

I chuckled at his wordplay, "The Keeper knows about it...ish."

Cullen snapped to me, his eyes boring through, "I thought you wrote to her."

"I did, I just didn't wait for a response. And I may have been a bit vague about what human marriage technically is..." my fingers worked through each other as I glanced up at him before shrugging. He sighed, his head flopping forward while he pinched at the bridge of his nose. My fingers caressed his cheek, "That isn't the news I'm most concerned telling my mother about." Cullen leaned his face into my hand, the now rarely trimmed beard prickling my fingers.

"The elfy shit," Varric filled in the unsaid words. That was it. How was I going to explain the elfy shit to my Keeper, my clan? Though I did intend to take a bit of enjoyment lording over my mother the true nature of the mage she thought I should fall for instead of the shemlan. Oh, so he's at least got pointy ears and seems to know elvish and the old ways. Well, funny you should say that because he's actually the Dread Wolf - it was his creating the fade that toppled our people. And right now he's planning on destroying the world. Cullen looked like the perfect son-in-law by comparison.

"Then," Aveline said to Cullen, "you are married?"

"Didn't I mention that?" Varric asked.

"No, somehow you missed that part despite the hour long description of the 'upside down elf mirror crap.'"

I tried to peer into my husband's mind. He'd never mentioned this guard captain, though he rarely brought up much of his time in Kirkwall aside from the basics. After Meredith went and turned herself into red lyrium, it'd make sense he'd have to work closely with the guard captain to bring some order to the city.

"We wished to keep it quiet," Cullen said, then muttered to me, "not that it worked well."

"Congratulations. You wear it well," Aveline nodded her head once.

Now the blush rose as Cullen tried to scratch at the back of his head, "I, uh, thank you. And your husband, Donnic, yes? How is he?"

"Up to his knees in bullshit because the Viscount endorsed the lyrium smuggler's trade behind my back," Aveline cursed, whipping her head on Varric.

"They're going to run through the city one way or another. This way, we get our fair cut and can put that money to rebuilding."

"It's wrong, Varric."

"That's probably why it's getting the job done," the least lawful Viscount said, shrugging. It was a good point, but I watched both Guard Captain and ex Knight-Captain work their jaws from the injustice.

The massive door cracked open, and Bran entered, a box stuffed under his arms. Varric clapped his hands together, "You found it! I was afraid you got lost."

Bran dropped the box into his Viscount's hands, then unearthed a kerchief to wipe them off. "There was an unexpected consequence. Were you intending to ever tell me about the bronto in your office or...?"

Varric waved him off, grinning down at the box. Bran shook his head, sharing a moment with Aveline as we all tried to peer down at whatever present had Varric almost skipping about. "Well," he held it out towards me, "open it."

I prodded at the box's top, "This isn't going to be like the key to the city again, is it?"

"Nah, it's much better," he said. "You tried it out, right?"

"Of course not," I said, then winked. Cullen sighed often while playing lookout, though I only got one chain to twitch before it all rusted tight.

I sized up the box, all the more massive in the dwarf's hands. Someone took the time to sand down the edges, removing a chance for splinters. The lid lifted easily to reveal a complex turn of gears and wires winched back along a piece of rosewood. Varric lifted his hand higher so I could reach in to pick it up, the metal crossbeams cold to the touch, but the mechanism to hold the bolts hummed unnaturally warm.

"It's a crossbow!" Varric shouted. "Designed to be one handed courtesy of a mutual friend. She'd been wanting to see if she could go for something more compact. Not as beautiful as Bianca, but few things are."

"Blessed Cr-" I began, then the curse died away, my lips twisting into a frown. Cullen's hand rubbed circles along the small of my back at my stumbling. A crisis of faith wasn't something that came and went like an avalanche, fast and destroying everything in its wake. It kept hitting me in the tiniest moments when my lips would twist to thank or praise a god that - if Solas was to be believed - had enslaved our own people. Regardless, I did what I could to not mention the Evanuris by name if only to keep the Dread Wolf off my scent.

Smiling, I tried again, "Varric, this is - thank you. I don't know what to say."

"Try it on," he said, gesturing to the straps laying in the box. It took a bit of adjusting to get the leather bonds in the right holes, my fingers pausing every few seconds to admire the craftsmanship put into the crossbow. Bianca even took the time to etch a small halla onto both sides of the butt, silver inlays bringing it to life.

Sliding up my sleeve, I hooked the straps around my elbow and shoulder - the crossbow almost slotting perfectly into place around the stump. "Hm, going to need some padding at the butt to cushion and probably a sheep's hide on the shoulder strap."

"Don't forget a belt to hold your bolts," Varric said, his own fingers twanging across the strings as he pointed to the firing mechanism. I'd already pulled back the drawstring, notching it into place to test the tension. It was going to have to be increased a few notches.

"Ooh, good idea," I smiled at him, mentally adding to the shopping list.

My poor husband sighed, his hand working up to massage my shoulder. Varric smiled up at him, "Uh oh, did I shatter the picture of domestic bliss? Break your retirement plans?"

Cullen shifted from the eyes turning on him, but I waved my hand while lifting the crossbow higher. The weight caught me by surprise - I'd need to do much more heavier lifting than I'd done in months to adjust to it. "He's upset this means I won't be taking up the sword instead."

"I am not," Cullen lied poorly.

"Tried to teach me a few times," I stage whispered to Varric.

The dwarf chuckled, "He does know about that time you 'borrowed' Blackwall's and wedged it into a tree? Shit, the damn thing's probably still in the Hinterlands starting a few legends of its own."

Cullen whipped towards me, "You never mentioned that."

I shrugged, my shoulder twisting under its new weight, "This was, what, a few weeks after we moved into Skyhold? I wasn't in a big rush to embarrass myself in front of the strapping Commander."

"That's fair, I suppose," Cullen said, a blush growing around the massive grin on his cheeks.

"It's a shame I can't try this out," I sighed, lining down the sight. Normally, I'd need a few dozen bolts to get it set, but something told me both Bianca and Varric took the time to "test it out." The smell of fresh oil wafted off the gears.

"Funny you should say that," Varric said, tapping his fingers against his chin. "Seems that house of yours, well, someone tipped off to the Red Chain gang that it was abandoned and they've decided to try squatting in it."

"Tipped them off?" Aveline repeated, folding her arms and glaring down at her Viscount.

Varric held his hands out, the picture of innocence, "Now now, the esteemed ruler of Kirkwall would never cavort with men of such lacking character."

"Not unless they had coin you could win off them at cards," Aveline shot back.

Cullen's fingers wandered away from my back as he tried to reach for a sword that was no longer there. "While your offer is an interesting one..." he began, glancing towards me.

But I didn't finish for him, "We did have plans for that house. Plans that wouldn't include filling it with ruffians." I smiled at the flash of 'oh shit' crossing my husband's face.

"Any plans concerning the property will have to be discussed through the proper channels," Bran interrupted.

I turned back at Varric, "Building a refuge for templars trying to break off the chantry yoke, that proper enough?"

"Sounds good to me," the Viscount shrugged. "Guard captain?" She smiled, nodding at Cullen. "Looks like you got out voted, Bran."

"Quite," he grumbled, rolling on his feet.

"But, we can't get all the paperwork, caretakers selected, and other things started without clearing house first," I said, sliding back into Cullen.

"The Kirkwall guard would be more than happy to assist in removing any dangerous criminals within your premises," Aveline said, glaring at Varric as her sentence ended.

The Viscount shrugged, "Come on, you don't want to see the Inquisitor in action?"

Aveline sighed, rolling her eyes up at what seemed to be a losing battle, "I'm grateful Hakwe isn't here."

Varric snorted, "If Hawke were here we'd have vengeful, undead, demon bakers storming up the steps as we speak."

"Bakers?" I asked, digging through the box. A pile of bolts rattled across the wood, all with green tips.

"That was a great Summerday," Varric mused. "Not so much for the massive undead, but the sweet rolls were perfect."

"Because you didn't have to clean up the corpses - neither of you," Aveline muttered.

Cullen stepped in between the two, "It's all a moot point. There's barely any time to adjust to the new crossbow until..."

Three bolts sprang from the end of my wrist, embedding into the wall, rock dust tumbling to the floor - a perfect grouping. The firing mechanism was hair triggered, and the groove held five bolts before I needed to reload, giving me plenty of time to turn any bandits into swiss cheese before the next round. "A small dagger on the side would work well," I said, running my fingers along the edge, "perhaps embedded here so I could whip it out should someone try to flank me."

Smiling, I batted my eyelashes at my husband, reloading the crossbow by feel. Cullen closed his eyes trying to summon a strength within, "Very well, as if I could stop you anyway. But I'm coming with."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I cooed, rising to my toes to press my lips to his. He ran one soft finger down my cheek, his light smile shaking from my boldness. I broke away and turned to Varric, "What about you?"

"Oh no," Bran stepped in, "we cannot have the Viscount chasing after ruffians..."

But Varric already hauled Bianca out of her seat of honor behind his comfy throne. Patting her once, he tipped his head, "Don't worry Bran. I've got the Inquisitor to watch my back. Just like old times, but I can do without the Qunari invasion for once."

"And what about the stacks of patrons waiting for an audience with you?" Bran tried again to assert dominance.

But Varric waved him away, "Give everyone whatever they want and a free kitten. We've got a new crossbow to break in. What are you gonna named it? Every work of art needs a name." He reached around my back, pulling me into a conspiratorial walk towards the door. Cullen fell behind us, nodding once to Bran.

"I was thinking Cariad," I mused, rolling my biceps and savoring the feel of a bow once again in my hand.

"Good choice," Varric said. He reached out to open the door, then paused and turned back, "Well, are you coming or ain't you Aveline?"

"There are things I need to do here," she said, standing straight.

Varric rolled his eyes, "As if that's ever stopped you before."

A terrifying grin cut the guard captain's face. Grabbing onto her own sword, she followed behind us out of the Viscount's keep. No one ever believed that by afternoon's light in an abandoned mansion of Hightown the Inquisitor, her Commander, the Viscount of Kirkwall, and the Guard Captain battled against common thugs - no matter how many times Varric tried to spin it.


	20. Moment of Sending

A deluge blackened the sky, turning what was supposed to be a quaint walk in the forest into a run for our lives. My hand stretched out before me, searching blindly for cover. I tried to shout over the cacophony of an ocean of rainwater plummeting through cracking branches, but I couldn't even hear my own voice. I doubted he did.

Mud slipped under my boots, almost dragging me down to rend my ankle. I reached forward to steady myself, when my right hand snagged against the tent. My infamous luck saved me again. Working open the flap, I rolled inside, the dog fast on my heels. My husband was a few moments slower, sliding in from the waterlogged ground worms burst free to escape drowning.

Our tent was just large enough for the two of us to stand up if we all but climbed on top of each other. For the moment, I staggered around, doubled over, sucking in lost breath from the running and the pounding the rain beat against my body. Cullen stood, trying to wring water out of his curls so he could see, only to have the soggy locks flop back upon his forehead.

Laughter gurgled in my throat as I watched him sneer through rivulets of water dripping down his face. I knew I looked even worse, my hair splattered across my back like a hood, the shock of cold turning my skin wan. He twisted his head at my snorting, unimpressed, "Why is this humorous?"

"Because you look like a nug dropped into a bathtub," I said, giggling from the image...and a very unforgettable Satinalia with Sera, Varric, and Dorian. Vivienne never did find out how we got it in there.

He sighed, stretching his head up and nearly skimming across the canvas bowing from the still pelting rain. The tree cover kept some of it off, but not enough. It was going to be a long night.

"This was your doing," he said, wagging a finger at me.

"I can control the weather now? I keep acquiring amazing powers without realizing it," I smiled, stepping closer so I could stand.

Cullen snorted, his breath hot enough to hiss out steam. "You swore those clouds would be no trouble. Old Dalish trick." I shrugged, they'd looked not so terribly ominous when we started on our walk. "And you," now he turned to the mabari shaking for the third time across what had once been our dry belongings. "You were no help at all."

The dog only panted, his tongue lolling up at his master. Cullen sighed, then ran a hand along the dog's head, getting a lob of a tail wag for his attempt at discipline.

"It's only a bit of water," I said, unknotting my cloak. It plummeted against the ground with a slap loud enough the dog barked from the noise. I looked down to see how much rain had soaked through my clothes. I may as well have not even bothered with the cloak - my tunic fully adhered to my body, mud climbing all the way up to my knees. "Ugh, I think the rains soaked all the way through my skin to bone."

Cullen snapped up at that and the cruelest grin twisted his face. "It's only a bit of water." I'd have wagged my finger at him, but he let his own coat drop to the ground. His shirt was washed to being nearly transparent, suckered to reveal the twists of his stomach muscles and chest. I could even see the little v line where hip met the really fun part from his pants sliding too low. I really needed to thank whoever talked him out of armor - perhaps with a fruit basket.

He leaned down to pick up his coat, shaking as much of the dirt out as he could. Giving up rather than being satisfied, he hooked it upon the support pole bypassing through the tent. It might actually dry in a day or two. I snatched up my own, and tried to wad it up with my hand to wring out some of the water. "We'd best get out of these clothes before we freeze to death," I said, haphazardly twisting to face the wall and toss my own cloak against the pile of luggage.

When I turned back, Cullen's warm hands slid across my exposed shoulders, his body pressing against me. Before I could voice a word, his lips burned across mine, the heat from his body and breath revitalizing my frozen veins. His one hand reached back, trying to comb through my splattered hair, while the second slid downward, cupping my breast and easily taunting the frozen nipple before landing at the hem of my shirt.

He kissed me once more, then leaned back and smiled, "I think I can help with that." Gripping to the hem, he lifted my shirt off over my head, cold biting into my skin in its wake. But it didn't last long. Cullen's warm hands caressed up and down my exposed flesh - certainly enjoying the breast part, but taking a few side trips down to the stomach and the prodding of my hip bones. He was far better than any brazier in a lofty castle, as he leaned down, pelting me in warm kisses. Beginning around my collar bone, he worked down and across my chest - pausing after a kiss to warmly blow across my skin. Goosepimples erupted on my arms every time, a soft chuckle his response when he felt them.

It was when he dipped down, his lips trailing under my breast, that I couldn't stand the exquisite torture any longer. "No fair!" I cried, reaching forward with my hand to grab the bottom of his shirt.

Cullen rose, a wicked smile on his face as he helped me free his body from the confines of the translucent fabric. His pale skin glistened from the water, more tempting than any ripe fruit. I locked my left arm around his side, pulling him close, while my hand explored up and down his chest. A scar from a dagger veined across his right pec and down the sternum. Pockets of flesh muddled and scarred after mage fire marked the left side of his stomach. And a discoloration in the shape of a star rested upon his hip, just peeking over his pants. I adored every mark, every scar, because they were his.

He caught my hand, holding it tight to the scar just above his heart. I smiled from the touching move - softly brushing my lips against his, then I smirked and - with my stump and a little help from my foot - yanked off his pants. Cullen gasped, chuckling, "Now who's not playing fair?"

Wrapping both arms around my waist, he lifted me off the ground, just high enough I didn't quite but almost smacked into the top of the tent. He pulled me close for a kiss, then threw us both to the bedroll taking up most of the tent's space. My back sank an inch into the blankets then struck against frozen ground, but my body was too far gone to notice the pain. Cullen leaned above me, his arms pressing in beside my stomach, but remaining just high enough I could only kiss him as he dipped his head down.

"I thought you were mad at me, for the rain I somehow caused," I said, peppering his lips with every kiss I could manage to reach.

He rose back, breaking contact and digging a knee beside my hip. Folding his arms, he glowered, "I am." Then he shrugged, the smile returning, "I suspect you'll have to make it up to me." Picking up my feet, he slid off my boots, only shaking his head at the lack of socks. He was lucky I yet had the boots. Cupping my foot, Cullen dug the heel of his palm deep into my arch, both of his hands working away a week's worth of walking.

"By all the...you know what a woman needs!" I cried, losing myself to the foot rub.

"I hope that's not all," he said, gently placing my feet down and dropping to his hands. Crawling towards me, I wrapped my hand around his face and my legs enveloped his waist.

"What else do you have on the menu?" I asked, rubbing my massaged feet up and down the muscles of his back.

"Hm..." Cullen drug it out, his lips dancing across my neck as his fingers drifted down to my pants, finally about to finish the job.

"Hello, friend!"

Cullen's fingers froze, his eyes widening from the voice stampeding out of thin air. I sat up at the intrusion, almost smashing my forehead into my husband's nose. "What was..." he started.

"I just got back from the most dreadful party. You wouldn't believe how abysmal it was. Barely anyone was killed, the cheese course barely lasted for three settings, and they tried to pass the rehydrated droppings of desiccated rats off as wine."

"Ugh," I dropped my head back against the bedroll, "Dorian. That man has the worst timing in Thedas."

Cullen whipped his head around, "Dorian's where?"

I shook my head, "It's the sending crystal in my pack. Don't worry, he'll realize I'm not there and give up soon." I smiled to assure my now perturbed husband, running my hand up his arm - savoring the warmth of his strong skin.

Cullen glared at thin air, probably wishing he could reach out and strangle Dorian, but dipped down for a thin kiss. As my fingers reached around his back, cupping his ass, the heat of his lips increased, our tongues having a little chess match of their own.

"Mae sends her greetings - when she's not dealing with the incompetence of the Liberatum," Dorian's voice echoed from my leather pack beside the now slumbering dog's head. "Would you believe one of them actually managed to set himself on fire? We have no idea how. He only knows ice spells."

"Just ignore it," I whispered. Cullen tipped his head, his lips working back down my neck. There was still the matter of my pants that needed addressing. I wrapped my legs tighter around Cullen's waist, savoring the throb of him against me. It seemed to revive the broken mood as he reached down, about to finish the job.

"Hello? Are you there?" Dorian called out, his voice slightly tipsier than usual.

Cullen paused, but I grabbed onto his fingers to move this along. Surely, Dorian would get the hint by now. A glint caught in my husband's eye, and rather than yank my body free, he circled his finger around the first button. "You're a cruel man," I whispered, loving every excruciating moment. He smiled, carefully undoing the first of five.

"Oh, of course, I understand what's happening," Dorian continued. I squirmed, trying to drive Cullen's fingers on. "Performing your wifely duties, eh? Say no more. Well, continue to say no more."

Cullen's growl shattered the air beside my ear, "I will rend him from ear to ear."

"He's got to be done now," I said, mentally planning a very long and heated discussion with the mage in the morning - preferably while he's still hungover.

"Why don't you throw the crystal outside for now?" Cullen started, waving his hand towards the torrential flood.

I shook my head, "If I touch it, the connection will catch and Dorian will know I can hear him."

"So, put the entire bag outside," Cullen bargained.

"The pack full of maps and ciphers we need to find the missing clan?" My reasonable logic only drew more sneering from my husband, but I ran my fingers across his cheek and pulled his lips to mine. We both paused a breath from each other, waiting for Dorian to begin again, but the drunk mage finally seemed satiated. Perhaps he found someone else to torture back in Tevinter.

Reaching down with my arm, I unhooked my own buttons, each one fighting me without my stump to help. Cullen's hand drifted down my body, caressing his favorite scars on my skin and thrumming his fingers against the indentation on my hips. Finally, he leaned against my pants, letting me get all those damn buttons off. While his thumbs stroked my still frozen nipples, I wiggled out of my pants, kicking them off the bedroll.

Cullen slid off his elbow and rolled fully on top of me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, merging our body heat together, my skin tingling at every inch he touched with his own. His hips pressed into mine, while the fun bits prodded just outside me. Just a bit of wiggling and...

"That should be more than enough time to finish. Your templar's getting up there in age and they say stamina's the first to go." Shoving Cullen off, I jumped up, snatching my pack so forcefully the dog perked up. Dorian spent the rest of the night talking to the rain while my old templar and I tested the limits of our staminas.


	21. Moment of Congratulations

To Commander Cullen...No, scratch out the Commander. To Cullen Rutherford. Wait, did he actually take her name? They spoke of it but it could have been another one of their little jokes. Oh, this is too complicated. Just say, To Cullen.

Did you?

I wanted to offer congratulations on your first year of marriage. The binding of your union may not have been under the most auspicious of situations but...who uses auspicious in a congratulations letter? Forget that part. Instead, put down: My hearty greetings to you and your wife. So much has occurred in the year since you two bound your love together in the sight of Andraste. Or...did she even cite vows to the Maker? Does it matter? Never mind, leave that part in. Cullen will know I meant no offense.

I wish I could be there in person to share in the joy and adulations you both deserve, but the chantry keeps me busy on the other side of Thedas wishing to throttle a pair of grand clerics who...Please remove that last part. It is my understanding Varric intended to launch an armada of ships in celebration but was detained after the port authorities noted his confetti was actually Antivan hissing powder, illegal in nearly- I'm getting off topic.

What I wanted to say, what I wish to tell them is, just put down something about how glad I am that they found each other, can bring and share joy for their lives in this cruel world. Maker, after the troubles in Kirkwall, if any man needed someone it was Cullen. He pushed himself so far so fast, scrabbling to find forgiveness and also reparations. A hard ideal to live up to, but one I could respect. And, I suspect, he was the perfect balm for her as well. She molded herself to become something she never wanted to be but knew was needed. They both understand what it is to lose everything in a blink, to cherish what is before you, and to build upon each other. Even when the bleakest days stretched before us, neither turned to harsh words or actions, but clung together bracing for the storm.

No, don't put that exactly. Just give the idea of it, but in flowery language and metaphors. Maybe mention something about loving as long as they live, or wishing to live and love for a long life of love? More poetics and use that curly pen of yours with the scented inks.

Anyway, to end, simply put that I wish them all their years in love, joy, and contentment, and to not trust Varric when he promises he'll come up with an anniversary poem for you. Did you get all that? Good.

Sincerely,

Divine Victoria

No, just put Cassandra.

Maker's breath, this hat itches.


	22. Moment of Celebration

Pain, greater than any torment to ever rend my scarred flesh, tore through my guts, up my throat, and splattered behind my eyes. An eternal throbbing puckered from the base of my brain up into my nose. Death was preferable to waking. A nice long slip into the inky blackness never to awaken. Perhaps that was what kicked off uthemra for my people, I could wake and face an ogre of a hangover or simple not bother. I tried to sink down deeper but a coolness rose against my skin, lapping as if some monstrous creature slapped its gargantuan flippers against the seas.

Gritting my teeth, I managed to crack one eye, light searing through the one part of my brain left out of the festivities. Bubbles of pain burst from the attempt. Trying another go at this, I folded my fist and opened both eyes. A massive sword extended just above me, the tip reaching down to bifurcate my midsection and scatter my vengeful bowels. I scrambled, trying to roll out of the way before the giant could finish its job when my brain helplessly threw out the fact the sword was made out of stone. In fact, so was the hand holding it, her eternal eyes peering down at the pool of water I fell asleep in. Probably her pool of water, come to think of it.

More lapping continued beside me, and I twisted to find a dog's head snout deep in the fountain water. His stub of a tail wiggled with every sloppy slurp. The fountain was maybe a half a foot deep at most, water soaking into the back half of the light shift I remembered stripping down to when the heat grew immeasurable from too many bodies or too much drink. I tried to whip my head around to find the proper clothes I began the night with, but I could barely remember this room, or what building I wound up in, and possibly the country.

Somehow, through the desert winds of my throat, I croaked out, "Falon'din emma ghilana." Each syllable of the curse costing me. The dog paused in his drinking to nudge me in the stomach. He wanted pats, and all I needed was a long drink of water. Well, I'd probably done worse. Cupping my hands, I spooned some of the fountain water into my cracked lips. The water slicked down my ragged throat, enough that I could stop before hitting mabari slobber.

Using the dog as leverage, I struggled out of the fountain, the water trying to haul me back to its shallow bed. I remembered the plaza with the moon shining down through orange rooftiles, marble columns stretching high above my head and mosaics beneath my feet. That was during the sober part of the evening.

Benches festooned the area, most piled with people who thought better than spending the rest of the early morning in the fountain. I wished I'd been as wise, or not as drunk. The crisp winter air found its way to my skin through the wet cloth clinging to my backside. Reaching back, I tried to wad it up and wring some off, but that only drew a greater drumming being my temples.

A familiar accent moaned beside the massive wine cask, now hollow, and I limped towards it. Why was I limping? I couldn't remember any major battles of recent note and...oh, right. Someone convinced the Herald of Andraste to climb to the top of a dais, my heretical fingers blaspheming reliefs of the prophet's life, and jump off. That part went fine, it was playing a game of body knots after that got me. I still defeated those Crow twins though, even if I twisted my knee almost to the point of inversion to do it.

Bodies that had been dressed in Antivan finest and were now down to their own underthings rolled in sleep from my boots clanging against the marble floors. No, wait, these weren't my boots. I stopped wearing shoes months ago. Peering closer I realized the boots were far too large, cracking along the inside heels, and on the wrong feet. Someone also took the time to tie flowers in the laces.

Somehow just knowing I had on the wrong shoes caused my body to stumble more, the over abundance of celebration and alcohol tipping my stomach. But I could overcome this, I was the Herald of Andraste and worships don't vomit on their guests floor - unless that's what they're worshiped for, I suppose. Using a statue of Andraste in far less dress than usual as a guide, I slid around the room towards the source of my poisoning.

Tossed across a rug, her head perched upon her arm as if she only intended to nap, lay the host of the hour. She looked almost at peace, mumbling in her dreams upon her side. A painter could have preserved that image for "Lady at Rest," she bore so little results of her own machinations save for the massive lion's head resting upon her hip. Its marble eyes followed me around the room as I tried to get to her.

"Jo..." I tried, my voice slipping out of my grasp. "Jose...Josephine."

Lady Montilyet snorted, my pathetic cry somehow rousing her. A warm eye opened and rolled up to me. "Oh, Inquisitor," her voice as honeyed as ever. "Forgive me," she said, trying to rise. For a moment she paused at the lion's head, then placed it calmly upon the bench behind her. "I did not hear you rise. Can I get you anything? Eggs? I think there might be some of that roast duck remaining."

Gorge rose at the idea of food, and I twisted away, trying to keep it in check. "No," I stuttered, waving my hand towards her, "No, I'm good."

Josephine smiled, wiping down her dress and tutting at a single stain. She looked like she spent the night curled up in bed with a good book, not chasing after a drunk elf and her mabari through the cobbled streets of Antiva City. It had to be blood magic. Especially after the tanner and fish incident. No one walks away from that unscathed.

"Have you seen my sister?" Josephine suddenly asked, the first trace of discomfort crossing her features.

"Over that way," I grunted, pointing in the direction of the drawing room that quickly became the table dancing room.

"What did you think of the wine? Not too brash I hope. The grapes have been atrocious this year," Josephine tutted.

"Wine was a-okay," I said holding my thumb up and trying to not focus on it.

"Excellent," Josephine beamed.

Something nagged at the back of my mind - something other than the throbbing headache. A piece of me was missing. A rather important piece at that. I glanced down at my red shift, cutting just off at the knees. "Do you know where my clothes went?" I asked.

"I am uncertain, we did lose rather a large section of the party when 'visiting' the mayor's estate, but they are likely to appear before the lunch hour. I could have one of the servants send something down in the meantime."

I waved my hand again, not wanting to be a bother. There were more than a few servants sleeping off a hangover beside the Montilyet's. It wasn't my lack of clothing that chewed on my brain, but something else. I stared down at the wrong boots, tapping the toes together in thought.

"What is it?" Josie asked. Somehow she unearthed a clipboard and whetted her quill. My theories on her being a blood mage added another tick to the list.

"I dunno," I shrugged, "just feel like something's missing."

The dog's barking twisted both of us around to the front door. Someone threw it open to divulge the sounds and smells of Antiva City rising for a new day. It also revealed a man silhouetted in the morning light, leaning into the doorway and clutching his head. He stood only in the barest of clothing, a scarf knotted around his neck, a cap perched upon his head, and a pair of white smallclothes with Mr. Inquisitor embroidered upon them in green.

"Oh right," I smiled wide at Cullen stumbling towards his dog, trying to wipe his face clean of a long bacchanalia. "I forgot my husband."

"Commander," Josephine said, her eyes focused on the ceiling above his head. "You have a small statue in your arms."

"I do?" he muttered, looking to the crook of his elbow and spotting the tiny cherub. "I do. I woke in the chantry like this. The sisters started, uh, screaming." He paused and looked down his chest. Marks dribbled in red wax stretched across the pale skin, at first a few were drawn to highlight his scars, but after awhile the wielder began a game of naughts and crosses. Three in total crossed from his stomach up to his chest. I only lost one that I could remember.

"Oh, Maker," Josephine giggled, trying to hide behind her clipboard.

Patting my ex-ambassador on the back, I smiled, "Josephine, you did not overstate the impressive welcome we'd receive in Antiva. This isn't something I'm about to forget in a long time."

She smiled sweetly, dipping in a curtsy. "Wait until you see what we have planned for tomorrow."

Cullen whipped his head up from his loyal dog carrying a soggy pair of pants. "Tomorrow?"


	23. Moment of Everything

Easing down the stairs, I peered across the scattered remains of a half eaten meal abandoned in a hurry; plates stacked on one end were shoved aside to fit in a crate of empty bottles. My lips twisted from the mess, but I wasn't surprised. Our little home bulged with guests, the mage and templar forced to room their squabble together or spend their nights out in my treehouse in the back woods. No one ever took me up on the offer. It was probably the lack of a roof.

Plans were scribbled across whatever parchment the duo could find; old letters, missives covered in raven droppings, and huh...I turned over my gilded invitation from another lifetime to the Winter Palace now coated in a formula for a healing draught theory. Why did we hold onto this?

Piling up as much of the mess as I could towards the wash basin, I glanced over at the cabinet hissing beside the door. A wedding gift from Madame de Fer, it loomed over anyone who crossed our threshold - the carvings upon the door twisting themselves into a face biting through flesh by tricky candle light. It also whispered at night. I don't know if Vivienne sent us the cursed thing to be cruel or because she assumed only we could handle it. With her, the answer could be both.

Over time I grew used to the evil emanations and intelligible whispers - the kitchen almost felt empty without them. Rather than un-curse it, Cullen and I used it to hold our cleaning supplies and frighten away any unwanted guests. It succeeded at both. What drew my attention were the blankets piled below the cabinet, twisted and bare. Hm...

Yanking my cloak off the peg by the door, I rolled it around my shoulders, pinning it tight with the old eye brooch. Few people recognized it as the symbol of the Inquisition these days. My crossbow dangled off the peg beside it, but I hadn't touched it in months, and even then it was just to keep myself sharp. Honnleath had a way of not dulling the senses, but easing me to an unexpected serenity - like throwing on a blanket and curling up by the fire, preferably while someone rubbed my feet and whispered in my ear.

Rather than exit out the front door, partially ajar from a mage staff lobbed in the way while the two bickered on the front stoop, I twisted around the hearth to head out the back. Summer winds tumbled the smell of honeysuckle and fresh cut hay across the remaining grass. In the distance I heard a noise that was not an axe meeting against wood - as I'd suspected. Stepping off the stairs, my bare feet slipped through the grass, barely noticing the occasional rock and jut of tree root. After a few years of playing Inquisitor, I finally got my dalish sole back.

Before pursuing the sound, I stopped to inspect my garden. Rows of beans curled up the trellis I bowed out of wood recovered from my trips through the woods. They came in nicely, more than a handful ready to be twisted off the stems. The greater problem were the squash, their prickly vines crawling out of the small patch of dirt and into the next plot over. It was supposed to hold winter wheat in the coming change, but the invading zucchini were having none of that. I'd never planted a seed before, not one that didn't have a dozen other gardeners at Skyhold watching over it like a hawk. Even then, all it produced was another tuft of elfroot to dump into a healing elixir. But, when we moved in, Mia gifted me a small box filled with some of her best seeds. More curious than anything, I planted one in a patch of dirt beside the steps and waited.

It nearly drew Cullen mad waking every morning alone only to find me squatting out in the dirt tending to the little thing, weeding it, feeding it, and - on occasion - talking to it. When it sprouted a leaf I glowed proud, almost as proud as when I'd closed the breach. It was another two weeks before I returned from the market to find my husband hoeing up a patch of weeds, sweat pouring off his naked and still pale white back, gifting me my first true garden.

That first year of harvest anyone who visited had to try every single vegetable I raised from a tiny seed. Cassandra was polite about it, her requisite guards less so as they moaned through a third round of barley soup. The rare time the Chargers passed by, Krem kindly passed out the piles of fresh fall harvest to the others. It was Bull who grunted, sniffing the vegetable, "What's this?"

"It's a squash, chief."

"So you squash it then?" Bull laughed, then proceeded to do just that. Yellow flesh and seeds dripping down his face he asked where the hell the meat was.

Thom surprised me the most, lapping up every bean we had and asking if he could take a few dried bags with him. Apparently, vegetables were hard to come by on the road and he missed it. To think, the once proud dalish hunter turned Herald, then Inquisitor, found peace in the dirt, in settling down and tending to the land. It's the last thing I'd have ever expected, but everything I wanted.

A yelp echoed from deeper down the hill, drawing my attention. I rose from my tomato plants, dusting off the dirt on my knees and spotted the wood axe sitting forlornly beside the empty pile someone claimed he was filling. Hefting it up in my hand, I leaned the head against my shoulder - the warm metal burning through my light shift - and began the walk down the slope.

More yelping punctuated the air and, after a few careful sliding steps, I spotted the source. Cullen lay stretched out upon the grass, one arm thrown over his face to shield his eyes while four of the pups squirmed on top. Little nails dug into his shirt, their entire backsides wagging in joy, as they tried to climb onto him. Silently, he'd drop a hand down and lift one up until it sat upon his chest, the tiny, pink tongue lapping across his chin. But the joy was too much, the little body unable to adjust for the wag's force, and the pup would slide off Cullen's chest, plopping onto the ground to give another one a chance.

At his shoes, the two tan pups wrestled for dominance over a loose shoestring. Snarling and yipping as if facing down their own archdemon, the runt snatched the lace up in her jaws and tried to run for it - only to have the slack catch, yanking her back into Cullen's shoes. She was dazed for a moment before one of her brothers rolled on top, the game begun anew.

The last pup sat in the grass, facing down a mighty butterfly demon. She squared up her tiny shoulders, twisted her legs to face it, and barked out a pathetic squeak. Her prey only flitted to the next flower, giving her a chance to try again.

"So," I said, wiping the smile off my face, "this is chopping wood."

Cullen struggled to sit up, catching one of the pups in his hand as he rose. His hair was a complete mess, flayed at the edges and wadded with grass, his shirt pocked with tiny muddy paw prints, while a ruddiness from the sun or being caught burned his cheeks. I'd never seen him so handsome.

Hauling the axe off my shoulder, the head smashed to the ground, "You forgot this."

"Ah, we were doing a little training exercise on this fine morning," Cullen said, rising off the ground. Having lost their toy, the pups took to chewing on each other - their newly grown knife-like teeth shredding through their siblings.

"They're only five weeks old," I said, watching limbs that just mastered walking a week ago forget that fact and splay out. Our runt picked up speed, chasing after her kin, but misjudged the distance and splattered against him, both tumbling in the grass.

"You can teach a mabarai as young as four weeks," Cullen said. He clapped his hands once, gaining the curious stare of a few sloe back eyes. Mastering the power he once wielded across armies of men, he commanded the puppies attention. "Sit!"

Four butts slapped to the ground, their heads tilting from concentrating so hard. Cullen shifted to the holdouts, his amber eyes narrowing until they too stopped playing, their own backsides plopping to the dirt. He turned to me, a grin stretching his cheeks as if he'd once again commanded our forces to save Thedas. The proud papa of the puppy army wandered out of the creek, the fur streaked in mud and clay - a stick jammed in his mouth. For a moment, he paused beside his master, the tongue lolling below his stick. "Don't..." Cullen started, but it was too late. The dog twisted his skin, splattering Cullen and all the pups with the dredges of the river.

I cracked up at my husband trying to escape the spray, some very un-Andrastian cursing escaping his lips. Pointing to the dog, I said, "And some you can never teach." Cullen wiped at the mud splattered onto his nose, but sighed, chuckling softly from the rescued mabari who loved life and didn't care much for that learning bit.

One of the pups disentangled from the rest and toddled towards me, her ears flopping in the stumbling run. Her fur was the same dark, almost blue of her father's save a lone tan point upon her back. "Da'assan," I cooed, scooping up the puppy in my hand. Her entire lower half wiggled in excitement as I held her to my chest, her paws trying to scrabble up my shirt.

Cullen smiled, his own fingers scritching behind his dog's head. "I received another request for a pup," he said.

"Who is it now?" I sighed.

"The teryn of Highever," he said, tipping his head as if that must be someone important.

"I'm going to gut whoever told the nobility we had a litter," I muttered, then bit down a giggle from my little arrow's sandpaper tongue lapping across my stump.

"A war hound from the Inquisitor, it's bragging rights across the court now. Both of them." We'd been getting messages, ravens, even one strange man in bright green tights who sang his lord's request for over two weeks. They came not only from across Ferelden, but Orlais and even beyond. One Antivan Crow claimed if we gave him enough time he could train a pup to become an assassin. It was getting pathetic.

"Nope," I shook my head, "too bad. They're all spoken for. Isn't that right, da'assan?" My little arrow yelped from the name, a small knot of pink rope around her neck to mark her - not that I needed it. I knew all the pups from their paw prints by now. "How's Cassandra's coming along?"

Cullen turned back to the only pup with almost all black fur, regally sitting apart from his siblings until one got too close. He'd bark once, chasing the rascal away, to return to his vigil over the countryside. "Certain to terrify the chantry," he smiled, nodding at the puppy.

"I imagine a lot of grand clerics will light candles until he's house trained," I chuckled. The pups were reaching the age where keeping them outdoors as long as possible was preferable to dealing with the constant mess, which was normally something I'd do while in the garden or taking a trip around Honnleath. The children in town adored the painted elf with the puppies in tow.

Da'assan wiggled in my hands, wanting to be free to run. I leaned down, dropping her to the grass. Her legs were already dancing in my hand, and once they made contact she plowed through her father's legs. Smiling, I reached out, running my fingers up my husband's arm.

Cullen held onto my hand, then dipped down so I could slide it along his shoulder. I gripped tight to him finding a softness below his shirt that over time replaced the twisted muscle no longer wound up in worry. Not as worried, at least. If he didn't find something to concern himself over, he'd worry about that. Growing old, if this was what the creation of the veil doomed us to, didn't seem so bad. I could get used to retired life.

His lips pressed against my forehead, the touch cooler than the rising heat of day. So many battles, so many nights gripping tight to the last thread of life, watching as people sacrificed themselves for my sake, for my name, my cause. I didn't walk away from it unscathed, none of us did, but to come out from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, a prisoner and criminal to this...

"Ar lath ma," I muttered, kissing his cheek and savoring the return of the stubble after an unfortunate lost bet to shave it all off.

Cullen blinked, "Elvish? You haven't used that in awhile."

"I'm feeling nostalgic, I suppose," I said.

He twisted me around, wrapping his hands behind the small of my back. How easily his arms fit where my hips dipped in to meet my ribcage. Human and elf were supposed to be ever at odds, but we slipped together in a strange harmony, his strong arms binding over my bony body.

"Well," Cullen pivoted his head behind us, "Our house is full of researchers..."

I grumbled, not really upset but wishing they didn't have to be there at the moment. It seemed like every chance we were alone, some other crisis arouse begging for the retired Inquisitor and her commander to solve. Apparently, all the rest of the heroes in Thedas called in sick.

"Someone needs to teach them how to clear their dishes," I said, remembering the mess waiting back there on the table.

He grimaced, "That was probably my doing."

"Dish fairies aren't real, you know," I said, even as I kissed his lips, feeling them pucker below me into a chuckle.

"I was thinking..." my husband said, his fingers circling around my back, "if you're really in a nostalgic mood - we do have a treehouse back in the woods where no one else bothers to go."

"Why, Mr. Lavellan, are you implying we do something untoward in the forest by late morning's light?"

"There was little implying," he whispered, his breath dancing near my ear. A sigh rumbled from deep in my throat and I turned, catching his lips in surprise. The light peck shifted deeper, more pronounced, as he pulled me ever tighter to him. My lips wrapped around his bottom one, softly sucking on it, "I take it you're intrigued by my proposition?" he asked, breaking away.

"Maker, yes!" I cried, running my fingers through his hair, ruffling it worse than the pups ever could. He dipped down, and - in a surprise move - caught my legs up in his arms. With my own gripping to his shoulders, he carried me like I needed rescuing, my head slipping back in laughter.

"What about the puppies?" I asked, waving my head towards our little charges.

Cullen twisted towards his dog and ordered, "You, watch your children." The mabari stood at attention, his tongue lolling, but I'd swear that dog could salute sometimes. Having given his command, Cullen turned to head towards the pocket of woods I obsessively tended.

"You can't be serious?" I giggled. The researchers were here at his whim, he couldn't be planning on abandoning them now.

Cullen growled in my ear, "I'm always serious." His voice dropped so low, goosepimples broke through my skin. Leaning forward in his arms, I managed a quick peck on his lips, his hands tightening the grip upon me. My serious ex-Templar turned towards the copse of trees leeching out from the forest into our little grassland.

Above our heads, a lone black dot circled in the air. I tried to point to it, but had to grip back onto his shoulder. He twisted around, watching the bird swoop down out of the sky towards the front of our home.

"A raven," he sighed.

"It could just be a black bird," I said, snuggling tighter to him. "One that got lost or is avoiding a hawk, or that mage is feeding. Certainly not something that needs our immediate attention."

Even as his eyes traced the path of the raven more than likely landing upon our perch, he smiled, bringing his forehead to mine, our noses softly bouncing off each other. All the cares of Thedas washed away as he turned us back towards the woods when a shadow blotted out the sun.

Together we both craned our necks up to watch fifteen to twenty ravens flying in an unnatural formation towards our house. They flapped with such ferocity ebony feathers tumbled from the sky, one landing beside the puppies who had to fight over it. Speckles of color dotted the bird's legs; reds, greens, blues, yellows - bands given to our allies raised wherever would could find them.

Dread washed up my legs, raising every alarm I thought I'd managed to forget over the years. "They found him," I whispered.

Cullen dropped my legs to the ground, the stern countenance returning with the ravens of war. Some nights I could almost forget, pretend that I was free to whittle away the rest of my days as a part time farmer and nurse with my husband. But then I'd twist over and see my stump, a gift from Solas and a warning from Fen'Harel.

Live well in the years remaining. Those were his parting words, and - with help from my friends, family, and the man I couldn't imagine living without - I'd done just that. That was Lavellan, the silly painted elf with one hand who told wild tales, made a mean venison stew, and kept the woods around Honnleath surprisingly bandit and darkspawn free. But the world didn't need her anymore. There were just as many others eking out their days in comfort and happiness, about to have all they knew come crashing down in another end of days unless someone intervened.

Heroes are made, not born, I can't remember who told me that, but it doesn't feel right. Heroes aren't crafted, they aren't honed in blood and war, rising to the ranks to command armies of the faithful. They're people - elves, humans, dwarves, qunari - who stand up one day to fight for what's right, no matter the cost.

Cullen squeezed my shoulders, tighter than he had in years. Maker only knew what awaited us within those raven's messages, but we couldn't turn our backs on it either. Rising to my toes, I steadied my fingers upon his cheek and kissed his lips with a promise no matter what happened I'd do all I could to return to him. It was one I'd made times un-counting. He closed his eyes, his forehead meeting mine in one final moment. When he rose back up, the sheen of command glinted off him - invisible armor in place.

I may not have created Solas, in some ways my stopping Corypheus stopped his plans - or stunted them at least. And it almost seemed unfair to throw away what I had just to chase down the man who didn't want to be a god yet had to change the world, but that's the thing about heroes - they don't worry about what's fair. They just worry about what's right.

That day, the Inquisitor was reborn.

THE END

I need to take this space to thank LadyGoat, without her request for some good Lavellan/Cullen fic these 90K+ words wouldn't exist. And to TheGwenninator who cheered me on as well as all the little reviews and kudos here and there from my awesome readers. All of that kept me going through the dark places and into the light. But screw the Deep Roads, you can't make me go back in there!

Thank you all!

See you in Tevinter.


	24. Surprise: A Little Grand Adventure

Her pudgy fingers gripped tight to the soldier's greaves. Sounds of triumphant laughter echoed down the scrubbed streets, shredded banners floating in the wind. But she didn't care for any of the revelry across Val Royeaux, her eyes were focused only on the woman in the center of a mass of armed guards. Despite her being covered in strange clothing, like she threw on a bed sheet to scare people as a ghost, Lila recognized the scowling face below the gigantic hat. Pressing deeper into the ring of men until the soldier coughed, she asked, "May I see Cathandra?"

The guard shook his head, unmoved by her plea, "Divine Victoria is preoccupied at the moment."

Lila stepped back trying to stare up at the man's face, but it was masked off by a gate of metal. Helmets were no strange sight for the girl. Her father even had a small portrait done of her as a baby curled up inside one fast asleep. It was pulled out every Satinalia for guests to coo over. "I don't want to see Divine, just Cathandra."

Sighing, the guard answered, "Cathandra, I mean Cassandra is Divine Victoria."

"Oh," Lila accepted the uninteresting news, peering through the gapes between the soldiers. Cassandra paced back and forth with some other women in funny outfits but slightly shorter hats. The Divine was too caught up in her heated discussions to notice the small girl waving to her.

After a moment, Lila asked, "Is she done now?"

"No," the guard said, sliding his leg wider to cut off her view.

Lila stepped back again, still squinting to see if the face through the bars was familiar. Exasperated, she pawed at her blonde curls just unruly enough to turn her adorableness dangerous. Normally, her hair combined with her massive amber eyes could get her whatever she wanted but this man seemed as unmovable as stone - or her Mummy.

"Can I see her now?" Lila wasn't about to give up. It was a trait that exasperated and didn't surprise anyone that knew her parents.

The guard finally broke from his stance. Dropping to a knee, he eyed down her wholesome face, "Young lady, the Divine is very busy with important matters and won't have any time for you."

Lila nodded solemnly at his words The guard began to rise at her seeming acceptance, but that gave her the perfect chance to dash past his now open side. He twisted to nab her, but she was too quick, her thin body slipping out of his grasp and her stubby legs paddling towards the woman in the massive white robes.

"Get back here!" the guard shouted, but Lila was too close to her target now.

"Cathandra!" she shouted, throwing her arms wide around the chantry skirts.

"What is -" Cassandra started, before turning to spy the little girl clinging to her leg. The blond curls twisted away as Lila looked up, her smile stretching from cheek to cheek.

"Found you!" Lila shouted as if they'd been playing a game.

"So you have," Cassandra chuckled. Despite being surrounded by grand clerics, she dipped down to scoop the child into her arms. Lila knotted her hands around Cassandra's neck, hugging her face tight. "Oof, you grow larger every time I see you." Lila laughed at that, her fingers sliding down the sides of the Divine's hat and leaving chocolate stains in their wake. "Soon you'll be large enough for your own set of armor. Have you begun combat training?"

"Daddy thays I'm too little for a sword."

"Nonsense. Anyone can learn the steps for a proper defense," Cassandra shook her head, causing her hat's sheets to undulate, much to the girl's amusement.

The guard finally caught up to the proceedings and dipped down to a knee, "Your Perfection, forgive me, the child slipped past my grasp."

"She's like trying to hold onto an eel," Cassandra said, drawing another laugh from the girl.

He reached out to take the errant Lila, but she clung tighter to Cassandra, not about to let go without a fight. Cassandra held a hand out, stopping the man, "It's all right. A little girl isn't about to assassinate me."

"Your worship?"

"But," Cassandra leaned back to look Lila in the eye, "I find myself wondering where your parents are."

Lila shrugged, her fingers now tugging on the bodice of her shift dress sewn from excess fabric off the skirt of a templar uniform. Hugging tighter to the girl, Cassandra sighed. To the guard she ordered, "Return to your post. The child is safe with me." The guard saluted, still eyeing up the strange girl who looked more like every random street urchin than someone clinging tight to the Divine. Cassandra tried to catch the girl's attention, "You cannot remain with me long."

"I only wanted to say hi," Lila insisted, gripping her hands around Cassandra's neck so tight for a moment the Divine choked upon her exuberance and love.

"I am glad to see you again," Cassandra said. "Our time apart grows ever longer despite my attempts at the opposite."

Lila stared at her for a moment as if taking in the woman's heartfelt words before she asked, "Can I wear your hat?"

Cassandra chuckled and hugged her tighter.

"Maker's breath! There you are!" a voice broke through the crowd of skirts filling the streets. She tried to barrel past the guards, but they threw up their pikes. A little girl was one thing, but they could at least hold back a fully grown woman from assaulting their Divine. Josephine sneered at the men, but stepped back, always aware of the situation and how it appeared to the outside. Looking up she shouted, "Lilandra Mia Rutherford! Get back here this instant!"

"No," Lila cried, smooshing her face into Cassandra's.

The Divine sighed, "Ah, that would explain things." Still holding the girl up, she walked towards Josephine who was now nursing a stitch in her side, rolling her fingers against the skirts chosen for their elegance and not pursing an escape artist child across the festival streets.

"I don't know what happened," Josephine cried, her voice cracking from stress of her first turn at baby sitting, "I turned my back for only a moment to greet Lord Cyril, and when I looked up she vanished."

Cassandra chuckled, "She does that. I once had to chase her across the chantry grounds while a nappy flapped wild upon her head. There is much of her mother in there."

Josephine finally rose up from her shame and pain to shake a finger in Lila's face, "What were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself hurt or worse! Your parents would never forgive me. I could never forgive me."

Lila clung tighter to her third favorite person in the world, "I wanted to see Cathandra."

Josephine sighed, "Very well, you've seen her." She held out her hands, "now let us return to your room."

"No," Lila cried, shaking her head. "It's boring, you're boring. I want to see things."

The ex-ambassador glared. "Too much like her mother," she muttered snaking her arms away.

"You can't remain here, child. I have to spend hours in mind rotting discussions with men whose breath reek of fish. It will not entertain you by any means. Return with Josephine. She's very nice," Cassandra tried, but Lila could see through that trick. Nice meant boring, and after a three day carriage ride the last thing she wanted to do was spend her day locked inside a marble room getting shouted at for touching things.

"How about I take the kid?" a new voice oozed up from the ground. Lila peered off Cassandra's shoulder to spot the source scooting around Josephine's legs.

"I'd sooner toss her to the wolves, Varric," Cassandra said.

"Come now, lady Divine, if you can't trust the Viscount of Kirkwall who can you trust?" the dwarf smiled wide. He wore a half cape across his shoulder, the symbol of Kirkwall embroidered upon it in golden thread, but he still had that same crimson tunic cut so deep it should be scandalous if everyone didn't find it charming.

"She's a child, Varric. She needs structure," Cassandra said, ignoring the fact said child just broke away from her structure to leap into her arms.

"No problem, I can provide tons of that. I'm a very structural man," Varric said patting his stomach. It'd expanded in the years, but in that comforting way that ensured more pillowy hugs. "What does the kid want to do?"

Lila blinked her eyes from the one she wanted to stay with but couldn't, back to the one her parents left her with that bored her to tears. She wiggled off of Cassandra's shoulder, the Divine assisting in putting her on the ground. Once her shoes hit the stones, she turned to the man and found she only had to look a bit up to meet his eyes.

Slowly she stuck out her hand to the dwarf, he took it and shook it. He was about to drop it, but she gripped tighter. "No, you're supposed to hold it."

"Right, of course," Varric said. He turned up to Josephine, "Don't worry Ruffles, I can vouch for you."

Josephine danced on her feet, wanting to be rid of the problem but not wanting to shirk her duties, "I do have much yet to accomplish today and without her underfoot..."

"Get to it then, we'll get on just fine," Varric said. He clung tight to Lila's fingers, a comforting smile filling his face.

"Lila," Cassandra said, dropping to a knee, "be good and don't listen to Varric."

"Aren't you supposed to encourage children to honor their elders?" he snickered.

Cassandra glared at the dwarf before adding "And don't repeat a word of what he says to your father."

"I will," Lila said, bobbing her head, then snaked her other arm around to catch Cassandra's neck in a hug. "Bye bye, Cathandra."

"'Cathandra?' Oh I am so writing that one down."

Cassandra rose, her cheeks blooming from the child's love, but she turned a viper's glare on the dwarf, "Harm one hair on her head and I'll declare an Exalted March on Kirkwall."

Varric parted his one hand, the other still clutching tight to the girl. "We'll be sweet as apple dumplings, right?"

Cassandra looked as if she wanted to snatch the girl back up and whisk her away somewhere safe but the grand clerics, already put off by the interruption, were tapping their feet and shuffling harder than before. "Very well. Take care, child. I will see you later...when you can try on the hat."

Despite Lila's squeals of excitement, her Cathandra left her to return to the world of adults and boring. Her new friend smiled, gripped tighter to her fingers, and tugged her into the crowd.

"Are you a dwarf?" Lila asked, toddling to keep up. Her boots were a size too big, but everyone insisted she'd grow into them. That's what they were always saying, one day she'll be big and be able to do all the fun things just out of her reach. But getting bigger took so long.

"What gave me away?" Varric asked back. Despite being someone important with his own fancy cape, he had no guards beside him, and people only moved out of the way when he'd barrel through them dragging the girl with. He didn't seem like the other fancy people her parents brought home, forcing Lila into a dress and to stand still for a moment.

"I know a dwarf, at home. He's so silly sometimes with his words. He made me a wooden dragon."

Varric turned back to the girl, "Huh, I didn't realize they were taking in lyrium addled miners in their refuge. Unless it's a good way to keep a grip on the lyrium trade as well. Wouldn't put it past your mother. Okay," he paused in their walk, and pointed across the street. A cavalcade of horses drew wagons slowly down the crowded path in a macabre parade. Corpses decorated like the fallen enemies of the Inquisition were propped up in the wagons while spectators threw rocks and rotten produce at them. Knocking off helmets earned someone ten points.

"See that man over there, the one that looks like someone sewed his ass shut?" Varric asked. Lila shook her head, uncertain she'd ever seen someone with that issue. "He's in the green nobby mask and britches."

"Oh," Lila nodded, "I see him."

"Good," Varric grinned, then placed something in her hand, "I need you to slip over there and plant this in his pocket. Think you can do it?"

Lila blinked twice at him, her fingers throbbing against the key. A twisted grin lifted her face and she nodded. She broke rule one of her parents and let go of Varric's hand. Gathering the end of her dress in her free hand, she dodged under legs and around skirts of adults too focused on the parade to spy a little girl with a mission. As she approached the man, he launched a rock at the passing wagon of a scarecrow embedded with quartz crystals painted red. It nicked at one of the crystals on its shoulder but failed to dislodge it. Grumbling, he reached into his pocket to grab another rock.

With a grace some adult humans couldn't hope to possess, Lila slid beside the man. As he focused on lining up the next shot, her tiny fingers wiggled the key along the side of his sewn shut butt and she dropped it in. He scored a proper hit, his exuberance failing to notice the child slipping back into the crowd. Once a few steps away, she held up a thumb to Varric. He returned it in kind and then whistled.

As if appearing from thin air, three guards faded out of the crowd and grabbed onto the man. He twisted about, his face raging as he demanded to know what was going on.

"Sir, we have reason to believe you have been working in conjunction with the dark wolf."

"What madness is this?" the man railed, but the guards were already patting down his chest, one honing in on the pockets.

What's this?" the guard extracted the key Lila just planted.

"I don't know! I've never seen it before!" the man shouted, trying to break free.

"A key to the library where a member of the merchant's guild was just found murdered. As we suspected. Take him into custody."

They picked the man up like he was a sack of flour, even as he kicked and screamed that the key wasn't his. Lila ran back to Varric and held out her hand. He took it and smiled, "That was beautiful. Great job, kid. I should hire you out for a couple months, but Curly'd probably try to take my head. Speaking of..."

Varric glanced about the crowds thinning as the last of the wagons rattled past, the parade finishing until the next hour. "Do you know what a secret is?" Lila shook her head. "It's a very special thing you share between only two people, or one if you're quick on the draw," Varric said.

"Thspecial?" Lila repeated, excitement drawing out her lisp.

"Just you and me, no one else needs to...should know about our little bit of fun today. Not your mom, not your dad."

"Cathandra?"

Varric grimaced and glanced back to where the Divine stood earlier. "Only if you want fricassee dwarf for your next meal. No, not her. Just you and me. Real special like. You understand?"

"Yes 'um," Lila nodded her head so violently her curls fell across her face. She'd never been privy to a secret before, her parents always putting her to bed or sending her out of the room when someone with red dripping down their shoulder showed up. This was exciting.

"You and me kid are gonna do great things," Varric said. "Though I could really go for a drink right now. How about you? I assume they got you on the light stuff, whiskey, rye? One of the old bottles of Dragon's Piss your mom collected for shit knows why?"

Lila giggled at the funny names, her sponge brain memorizing all the new curse words she could try out later. "Tell ya what, I know a place that's got cream pouring out a fountain. They even have strawberries laid out to dip into it. Sound good?" Her eyes grew so wide, the dwarf feared they might consume her face. Gripping her hand, Varric began to guide her down the streets, the pair dodging close to the storefronts. Blue banners flapped above their heads while pert flower stands filled every front stoop or errant lion statue. For whatever reason, Orlais celebrated everything by covering it in foliage, strips of fabric, and - in the later hours - vomit.

Turning a corner, Varric pulled Lila up a set of seeming never ending stairs where a massive series of white columns stood at the top, fabric fluttering above to provide a roof from the sun. While he tried to charge up the center, she dashed off to the side, her free hand digging into the railing to guide her shorter legs up the incline. Varric chuckled, but let himself be anchored by the child.

Huffing together, the shorter pair finally reached the landing where more skirts butted into each other. She'd asked her mother about the strange faces on the people, and after hearing a detailed explanation of the history of masks in Orlais that made no sense, Lila asked her father. "They're stupid, ignore them."

The lattice ones didn't bother her, some even reminded her of the people who'd visit her home in full armor needing medicine for boo-boos. It was the masks across the whole face that didn't move save the twitch of an eye below that terrified her. One watched her disembark from their carriage the eyes never wavering off her, the face frozen as if in death. Lila screamed so loud her mother ushered her safely from it before the creature could whisk her away to eat her bones.

Varric seemed unbothered by the masks as he shoved around the nobles coming as close as they did to loitering. "I swear that fountain was just around here. Even had marshmallows. You ever have one of those?"

"No," Lila squeaked. Three of the green masks swiveled to her, the faces frozen in hunger for little girl blood.

"I'm gonna get you your body weight in 'em," Varric said. He tried to rise on his own toes to see around the Orlesians, but it was nothing but skirts and frilled waistcoats between the pillars.

"This is boring," Lila moaned.

"Or was the fountain at the other square? Why does every damn thing in this stupid city look the same? Kirkwall's not this bad!" Varric complained back, ignoring the girl. She tugged on their tether, stretching to see how far it would go but he had a tight grip.

"Viscount Tethras! Your...shortness," a man cried out from the crowds. He sighed in between what had to be a title request from Varric.

The Viscount himself twisted about, then spotted the voice's owner, "Shit, run!" But it was too late, Bran was already circling around him and had another two of Varric's dodged guards cutting off the exit.

Varric accepted his fate and froze in his tracks, "What is it, Red? Can't you see I have important business here?" He gestured to the girl still clinging to his hand.

Bran snarled from the nickname. "You've decided to adopt a street urchin, wonderful, but this is urgent business."

Varric rolled his eyes, everything was urgent business. If Bran ever found a hair in his breakfast gruel he'd declare an emergency and shut down the city.

"We just received word from the Nevarran ambassador that the rebel group has taken up residence on the Storm Coast in Ferelden."

"And this is my problem because..." Varric drew it out.

"Technically, we're supporting both the Nevarran crown and the rebels. Though under orders both remain within their borders."

Varric shook his head at the bullshit and was about to speak but Lila beat him to the punch, "You said we'd get marthmallows."

He pointed at the girl, "She's right, I did promise her marshmallows. And a fountain of whipped cream. Which I can't find. Have you seen it?"

Bran dug into his pockets and dropped a handful of broken peanuts into her hand. "There, food. Now we need to solve this before it breaks into all out war."

"You always say that."

"Because it's always true."

"All right, we tell King Barking Mad..." Varric launched into a list of schemes and plans he'd probably been working on before even leaving Kirkwall, but all Lila heard was a low pitched whine. More of the creepy masks were watching her. At one point Varric dropped her hand so he could give Bran a particularly involved gesture. That was enough of a hint for the child lost to utter boredom. At first she only slid a few inches away, then a whole step. When no one yelled at her, she crab walked away, always keeping an eye on the viscount trying to stop and/or start a war.

The skirts blocked off all of Lila's sight, but she found a door partially opened to the left of the festivities. Massive and carved with a relief of a woman standing in fire, her pudgy fingers had to heave against it to get it to move. Even then, she twisted to the side to fit through the narrow hole.

Greenery bloomed in this new area where trees and shrubs mimicked the columns of the last room. Lila smiled, it reminded her of home or the trips her mother sometimes took her on, just the two of them "getting forest under their feet." Another of those statues of the important woman was so massive, even with her head cranked back, Lila could only see up to her outstretched hands. Water poured off the fingers, splattering into a pool below that then streamed around the room in a circle. Feathers fluttered across the open sky as a magenta bird landed upon one of many tables scattered across the garden. It clucked its beak at her, and Lila dropped the peanuts Bran gave her. One yellow eye kept tabs on the girl, while the bird hopped over, nibbled open a nut, watched her again, then gobbled the rest.

A whistle echoed in the green room and the bird took wing. Lila rose from the peanut remains and toddled after the whistle. A woman dressed all in white stood at the center of the garden, her hand outstretched for the bird to land upon. She smoothed down the bird's breast feathers, then glanced up at the girl standing in her gardens.

"I see you've fed my pet," Vivienne spoke, gesturing to the bird clinging to the leather and bejeweled gauntlet on her arm.

"It was this," Lila said holding out her hand to show the last nub of a peanut. The bird squawked breaking free from its mistress' hold to zip over the girl and, with the softest nibble, snatch up the last of the nut. She squealed at it, clapping her hands from the trick.

Vivienne's eyes narrowed at the display, sizing the child up. "I am Madame de Fer, Grand Enchanter of the circle. And who, my dear, might you be?"

"I'm Lila," she said, holding out her hand now free of nuts.

Vivienne only clucked her tongue, "No, that is what you tell people while you're waist deep in muck courtesy of the dreadful floor in a bawdy establishment. You will address me with your full name."

"Oh..." Lila paused, screwing up her eyes to try and remember it all, "I'm Lilandra Mia Rutherford Lavellan."

"I see," Vivienne said.

"But I'm not supposed to tell anyone that," Lila said, her mother and father whispering in secret and then repeating the instruction to her while bundling up her favorite nug toy from the bird lady. Her daddy did not want to come, but mummy insisted and there was never any disagreeing with her, even when one wasn't tired and didn't need a nap.

Vivienne smiled, her eyes sparkling, "Your secret is safe with me, darling." Lila nodded, then gulped, her fingers digging into her frilled bodice. "What is it, child?"

"You're really pretty," Lila whispered, in awe of the glitter of her dress as well as the regal shine of her skin. "Like a queen."

"Well," Vivienne leaned back, smiling, "it's nice to know they're teaching you some manners in whatever backwater swamp they've squirreled you away to. Here, let me look at you properly." The Grand Enchanter stepped over to the girl, dropping to one elegant knee, and squared Lila's shoulders up. "We'll have to do something about this lackadaisical attire. Ruffles are to be in the season next, an undulation of pink and yellow would work best with your skin tone."

Lila stared into those calculating eyes and asked, "Could I wear armor?"

Vivienne smiled at that, "That's an excellent idea. There was a set made for Gaspard when he was a boy, perhaps not in the same style for you, but similar in scale and motif. Your mother must have a coat of arms by now, an elven styling across the breast plate. Yes."

Lila took the knowledge of her mother in stride. Of course everyone knew her parents, that was normal. She had another burning question in her heart, "Do you know Cathandra?"

Vivienne's smile fell, "You refer to Cassandra?"

Lila nodded, unaware of the change in demeanor, "Cathandra!"

"No, it's pronounced Cassandra. Draw out your s. Ca-sand-ra."

"Ca-thand-ra," Lila said, grinning wide.

Vivienne rose from her lean beside the girl, "Your change in clothing shall have to wait, for now we must attend to elocution."

"Electrocution?" Lila asked, the word sparking from discussions she shouldn't have overheard.

Vivienne tutted her and unearthed a long pointed stick from a lectern at the focal point of the garden. "No, dear. Elocution. The proper pronunciation of words. People must understand you whether they stand beside your lips or at the back of a theater. Your message should be all that they focus upon, not the words or bungling thereof. Do you understand?"

Lila wanted to nod and impress the fancy lady, but she shook her head sadly.

"No mind, let us begin with the vowels. And stand up straight. You're liable to give yourself a swooped back with that hunching."

Someone slammed the door where Lila entered and a man appeared inspecting a bottle in his hands. "I'm afraid the best I could liberate was a 7:35 Antivan Red. What is it with Southerners and their piss they confuse for wine?" He skidded to a halt at the sight of Madame de Far waving her stick just above Lila's head to the tune of Orlesian vowels. "Why Vivienne, I didn't realize you took to breeding? Or is the chantry handing children out as parting gifts now? Maker, I hope there's not one sitting in my gift bag. I haven't a clue what you feed them."

"Magister Pavus," Vivienne said, waving her hand towards Dorian who held the bottle upon his hip as he smoothed down his mustache. "This is Lady Rutherford Lavellan."

"Oh, so this is her!" Dorian dropped fully down to his knees to meet Lila in the eye. "Yes, I see it now. Striking resemblance to her father, even has that same sneer he'd get when we'd talk about him in front of his back. A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Dorian held out his hand, which Lila took gingerly. He shook it as strongly as if she was any chevalier which drew a smile from the girl. "Call me Dorian. I know your mother."

"Everyone knows Mummy," Lila said, unimpressed.

Dorian snorted, shaking his head, as he rose back up, "Maker, it's as if they miniaturized Cullen and dropped a wig upon his head. How did she wind up here?"

"I haven't a clue," Vivienne said snatching the bottle of wine from Dorian's fingers before it'd crash to the floor. "She appeared unaccompanied and baring nuts."

"If this is some scheme of your mothers, it's beyond me," Dorian said to Lila.

"We've been working on elocution lessons," Vivienne said, smiling at Lila.

"Andraste's breath, and you're going along with that?" Dorian asked, his sparkling grey eyes focusing fully upon Lila.

"It is vital that a young lady learn how to navigate the political waters of..."

"Forget that," Dorian said waving Vivienne off before focusing back on the child, "I happen to know a small bakery that's got a cake three times your height. Doesn't that sound better than reciting the chant backwards while balancing a book on your head?"

Lila glanced at the Grand Enchanter who stared magnanimously at the pair of them. The child whipped back to Dorian and smiled wide, "Yes!" Once again the allure of sugar beat out schooling.

Vivienne sighed, accepting defeat. "Be careful with her, Pavus. The eyes of an empire are watching."

Lila gripped tight to Dorian's hand. He twisted it around, trying to figure out why she was so clingy, but shrugged and held back. "Don't worry, we'll be back before anyone even realizes we've gone."

Together the pair slipped out of the gardens towards the town leaving Vivienne alone with her thoughts and her pet bird. Lila's shoes paddled at first against the ground, then air, as the funny man pulled her down the gilded streets and turned a corner into a darker alley. Revelers tramped through here as well, but they wore less glittery finery and were deeper into the spirit of the day.

Dorian smiled at them, offering some encouragement at a pair headbutting each other against the wall - or that's how he explained it to the little girl digging tighter to his hand. "By my honor, I swear that bake shop was just around here...Ah!" Reaffirming his clasp, he yanked Lila towards a storefront that had probably been quaint in its better days. Despite the torn and drooping banner and molding flowers in the sill, a string of bunting spruced up the grey fogging the window. A jolly bell rang from the door, catching Lila's attention. She tried to reach up as if she could get it to jangle herself, but Dorian was too focused on the accoutrements of the shop to notice or assist.

Giving up on the bell, Lila turned to take in the bakery. A handful of tiny tables circled the floor, most covered in half finished bottles from the parade that passed through an hour past. Something sticky coated the floor, trying to adhere Lila's oversized shoes to it. She jumped up and down, refusing to submit. The back of the tiny shop held a massive counter displaying small cakes, each one decorated with drizzles of various colors and frostings and topped in a sigil of the Inquisition formed from fondant.

It drew the child like a demon to the breech, she didn't even realize she dropped Dorian's hand until she was almost nose first into the cake. Her pudgy fingers reached out to one that looked like her aunt's spice cake but with bright red glaze dripping down the sides. Something sizzled alive, holding her hand an inch from touching the treat. The noise drew the attention of not only the lone shopkeep who'd had her back turned to them, but Dorian.

"A phasic barrier, fascinating," he said, prodding his own finger into it, "and all to protect a few cakes from children's grubby fingers. Such an elaborate display of magic wasted for a mere parlor trick. And here I thought I left Tevinter."

"I want one," Lila said, still pointing at the cake designed to mimic spilt blood - whether it was of those sacrificed in duty or the Inquisition's enemies depended on who did the buying. But all the girl saw was something tasty and sugary. After a day with Josephine insisting she smile and curtsy to every foul smelling person in scary masks, she felt she deserved it.

The shopkeep finally approached them, wiping her hands down her apron, "Can I help you?" She'd styled her hair with braids running along the sides to emphasize the tips of her ears. A sense of elven pride floated through the city which set some nobles on edge, but not enough to voice their complaints as they cast a careful eye towards the Inquisitor.

"Yes," Dorian said, rising up to meet her. Lila continued to press her hand into the barrier, enjoying the tingle it sent up her arm. She reached up to find her curls rising with every zap of the magic. "I was in here earlier, at least I believe it was here. Orlesian architecture is a haphazard disaster you call purposeful. As if someone dumped a mass of a blocks out of a box and arranged them all according to height."

"Do you have a point, Monsieur?" she cut back, frosty at the mage putting down her homeland with the child draining her barrier.

"Was this the shop with the massive cake? The one nearly six feet tall?"

Pride beamed from the woman as she nodded deeply, "Yes, it is. I was dotting on the finishing touches before delivering it to the banquet."

"Splendid," Dorian said, clasping his hands and patting Lila on the back. She looked up at him watching as her fingers drew up the barrier. From the contact the magic lifted Dorian's hair straight on end, tufts towering off his forehead . He looked like Puddles after a bath, while Daddy chased him around with a towel before giving up.

Dorian missed what was occurring upon his head as he held the baker's rapt attention, "I promised this charming girl here a slice."

The smile dropped to a frown, the baker shaking her head vigorously, "I'm sorry sir, this cake is meant for the Inquisitor and the feast in her honor. If you wish a slice, you'll have to get an invitation."

Dorian chuckled and picked up Lila, breaking her contact with the barrier. She sneered at her toy taken away but he lifted her up to meet the elf in the eyes. The baker stared with one eyebrow raised at the girl then looked back at the Tevinter Magister. "You must be aware of who this is," he said, twisting Lila around. She giggled from his fingers poking into her sides.

The baker was less impressed as she shook her head no.

"Come now, that chin, those eyes, her father's favorite sneer, mounds of blonde hair corkscrewing all over the place. This is the Inquisitor's own daughter."

That drew a bark from the baker and a sneer of her own, "The Inquisitor is an elf, and that is a human child."

"Well, yes, but..." Dorian tried to explain, but the woman glared through him.

"Unless you intend to purchase something, I suggest you stop wasting my time lest I call the guards to deal with you." She snapped up her piping bag and returned to the massive cake kept far behind the counter. Lila tried to scrabble out of Dorian's hands to get a better look at the promise yanked away. It had to be at least fifteen layers, offset with columns of various shapes to mimic the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the Winter Palace, Adamant, and finally Skyhold towards the top. They were all places Lila had never been but heard others talk about often in wistful tones. The baker took great care to paint a scene of the mighty Inquisitor vanquishing a foe on each layer, but at the top she changed it up. Greens and blacks mimicked either the forest ground or the fade itself while tiny gold markings bore a striking resemblance to the Inquisitor's blood tattoos. A small green ribbon wrapped around wire hung just above the cake itself as a lone figure stood at the top, arm outstretched to close it all.

It was a true marvel, and something Dorian was sadly dragging her away from. He placed Lila upon a table and she turned to him, her eyes watering, "No cake?"

"I'm afraid not. It seems the criers in the south do a lousy job of informing the public who is and is not important in this barbarian land."

Lila crossed her arms, glaring at the man who lied to her. "You promised."

"Life is full of heartache, child. Best to learn it now before some demon is gnawing on your foot," he tried to shrug her accusation away, but his grey eyes dipped low in pain.

A wrathful three year old is not easily tempered. Crossing her arms again for emphasis she struck out with, "I bet you don't even know Mummy!"

Dorian whipped to her, "I do, of course I do. She must have mentioned me to you, numerous times. We're the closest of friends, despite the distance..."

"You're a liar," Lila said, waving her finger under his nose.

"Maker, it's Cullen all over again stumbling upon my stockpile of...things that are not important," Dorian said, trying to smooth down his mustache from where Lila's barrier game lifted it. After a moments thought he snapped his fingers, "I can prove I know your mother, and father for that matter."

"Oh?" Lila shifted on the table, wobbling it until one of the bottles tipped over and rolled into her back.

Dorian dug into his pocket and lifted up a bright white crystal with a thread of leather dangling from the top. Lila cracked an eyebrow at him, still unmoved by his plea despite all the shiny things he had on him. Rising up as if steading himself to address the magisterium, Dorian touched the crystal. A pink glow pulsed from the middle as he spoke, "Hello, dear friend. I wished to check in to see how things are going at your end. They say there's to be a magnificent feast tonight in your honor."

Lila watched him intently, her eyes piercing to find this another lie. The man who'd faced down Corypheus and broken through time itself began to sweat under a child's gaze. Suddenly, the crystal throbbed a blue and a familiar voice said, "Dorian, now's not the best time."

"Mummy!" Lila shouted, kicking her legs into the table and scooting closer. Her fingers grazed across the crystal as she peered deep into it, trying to see her mother.

"What the...Lila? Is that you? What are you..."

"We're enjoying some refreshments together," Dorian said, a grin stretching his face. "Just a few dozen cakes before bedtime, right child?"

"Yup!" Lila said, kicking her legs even higher in anticipation.

The crystal fell silent and white for a moment before an even darker blue blared her father's voice, "Pavus! Whatever you're playing at, return Lila to Josephine this..."

"Oops," Dorian said, dropping the crystal into his pocket and severing the connection. "See, I told you I know your mother," he crowed to the girl. "Now, let us discover a way to do good on getting you that cake..."

The bell jangled again, getting a squeal from Lila, and another elf entered - her blonde hair shaggy and nearly down to her eyes. She parted it and eyed up the two of them on the table, "Shite's stacks, look at what the evil curtain nobs drug in. Didn't think you'd come all the way down here for this pish."

Dorian grinned at Sera, "And pass up an opportunity to have Southerner's throwing themselves at my feet in idolization? Perish the thought."

Sera nodded her head once at the baker, who returned the look. She snatched up one of the half finished bottles on the table and sniffed it. Finding it appealing enough, Sera upended it into her mouth, a stream dribbling down the side.

Dorian grimaced, but asked, "What brings you here? Didn't think noble celebrations and political machinations were your area expertise?"

"Ain't," she said, then burped loud enough to bring up the barrier, "But you get enough noble pricks in town and someone's gonna need a Jenny. Thought I'd swing by and see her too, been awhile with all this Fenny shit in the air."

"Ah, yes, speaking of the Inquisitor," Dorian said, stepping to the side to reveal Lila, "this happens to be what sprung out of her."

What color Sera managed drained from her face at the child waving to her. "You, you're the little, you just stay there. Way over there." Sera inched away, crashing into a table.

Dorian looked back at Lila, then the woman scrabbling away as if her life depended upon it, "She's a child, not a hungry bear."

"Bear I can deal with," Sera said. "Whatch you doing with her, anyway?"

"I was attempting to get her something to eat, but the purveyor found us less than acceptable..." Dorian said.

"Hey, Elise!" Sera shouted, waving her hand up. "It okay if I nick a few cakes for my friends?"

"Sure," the baker said. She waved her hand over a panel on the wall and the barrier shimmered for a moment before dispersing. Sera reached in, piling up plates of cakes upon her arm. She stuffed one into her mouth, tipping the empty plate onto the floor, before adding another two to her grabbing arm. "-Fanks," Sera shouted, crumbs splattering on the ground.

"No problem," Elise said. She lifted the barrier and undid her apron, finally wheeling the Inquisitor's cake towards the massive palace out the back door.

Sera let Dorian pick a cake off her arm as she slid two onto her table. She eyed up Lila, then with trembling fingers, held one to the girl just out of reach. Lila leaned so far forward, Dorian placed a hand upon her stomach so she wouldn't fall to the floor. Finally, Lila's fingers dug into the blood red frosting oozing it over her hand before smashing the wad into her mouth and savoring the jolt of sugar. After swallowing, she smiled at the new friend and said, "Thank you."

"Yeah, you just keep your thanks over there," Sera said, mashing her own haul into her mouth two at a time.

Dorian was the only one to use a fork, slicing off tiny sections. After a few bites, he said, "I've always wondered if your little friend network extends north into the Imperium."

"And I'd never tell you," Sera smiled. "But best not to be shits to your servants lest you wind up with a Jenny in your midden."

"I shall bear that in mind," Dorian chuckled. He glanced to Lila whose entire mouth was crammed full of cake, tears streaming down her eyes as she struggled to chew it down. "Dear Maker, don't go choking upon it. Smaller bites child."

"Is she dying?! She's not dying, right? You better not be dying!" Sera cried.

Lila managed to jam the bolus of cake down her throat, and reached for a second round before Dorian intercepted her. Using his fork, he cut her a smaller bite. "No, I believe she will live for the moment."

"Psh, don't go scaring me Dorian," Sera said, wiping real terror sweat off her brow. The Tevinter Magister watched her in confusion.

"You're quaking in fear over a small girl, and I've watched you try to climb on the back of a dragon," Dorian paused, "multiple times."

"Dragons is easy, you shoot 'em, they die," Sera explained, waving her hand at the three year old lapping frosting off her fingers. She wiped back at her hair, accidentally coating her blonde curls in the red dye. "But kids, they're so...bwahah!" Sera shuddered, knocking over another table.

"Fascinating," Dorian said, eyeing up Sera as if she was an ancient relic, "I'd have assumed due to the fact you share about the same mental age as a child you'd find comfort around them, but it's the exact opposite."

"Don't be judging me," Sera shot back, eyeing him up.

"Far from it," Dorian said. "Merely trying to ascertain what drives you."

"Mages always asking big pushy questions," Sera said, "and then they get arrows in the face." She didn't draw her bow, but the threat wasn't entirely without teeth.

Dorian only laughed at that, then turned to Lila, "What about you, child? Are you afraid of her?"

She paused in trying to get sugar out from under her fingernails to look up at him, then Sera. Blinking her massive brown eyes in thought, she said, "You're an elf."

"Yeah..."

"So's my Mummy!" Lila shouted clapping her hands as if she'd solved a puzzle.

"Great, fantastic, that's real helpful Dorian. Really fixed the creepy factor there with the kid."

Dorian only shook his head, then finally saw the mess Lila created across her hair, face, and dress. He unearthed a small kerchief from his person and tried to dab it across the dye. Unfortunately, this only smooshed it around, giving Lila the countenance of someone dying from crimson fever. The girl kept trying to push his hands away, unhappy with the poor washing.

Suddenly, a small pin on Dorian's shoulder lit up in a flashing red. Lila clapped her hands, expecting to hear her mother's disembodied voice again, but Dorian panicked. Tapping his pin, he whipped his head around the room. "Fasta Vaas!"

"Wha now?" Sera asked. "You never told me what that one meant, you know."

"Not the time," Dorian waved her away. "I should have known he'd be here. All my luck, naturally I'd run into one of them strolling through Orlais as if they still owned it."

"Dor-I-An!" Sera shouted, trying to draw his attention, "What are you on about?"

But he didn't answer her as he sidled up next to the doorframe trying to peek around the window. "No time. Sera, I need you to take the child."

Sera snickered, "Good one."

"I mean it. She cannot remain with me while I deal with him."

"Just tell the guy you want to see other people, it's you not him. Also his butt looks fat," Sera sighed, picking at another half empty bottle.

Dorian shook his head, "This isn't...the child would be in danger with me. You can handle it, she won't bite your head off. I have to finish this, and we can meet up later at the feast. No problem." He ended on a cheeky grin, but a glint sliced across his cheeks sagging from age and wear. Unearthing his staff off his back, he dashed out the door before Sera could form a proper response.

Horrified beyond measure, she watched Dorian run across the windows and vanish down the street, her nose pressed to the pane. Slowly turning back, Sera gulped as the kid picked at the edge of her dress then looked up.

"I have to go potty," Lila said, drawing a massive scream from Sera.

Finding a useable midden was easier than expected, and Sera only cursed four times standing outside waiting for Lila to finish and/or not die. "Shiting arsebuckets crap balls! What am I going to do? Not supposed to be dealing with this. Ever! This is real bad." Going against every fiber of her being, Sera sidled up next to the closed door and knocked. "You done in there, or what?"

Only a small gurgle answered back. Visions of the child laying across the ground, blood splattered everywhere flashed across Sera's mind. She knocked again, shoving her side into the door to dislodge it. "Fuckity shit holes!" Drawing back, she kicked with all her strength, smashing open not the lock, but one of the door's hinges. Without pausing, she kicked again, shattering off the second rusted hinge, and yanked the door back to find the kid's hands in the water basin, her massive eyes staring at the elf.

"Whatcha doing that for?" Sera shouted, as if she hadn't just destroyed a door for no good reason.

"Washing," Lila said, then proceeded to splash her hands in the basin, some of it splattering back onto her face and streaking the dye down it.

"Right, right," Sera nodded, "I can't deal with this. This isn't good. You need someone else, I need to find someone who can take you." She turned to try and exit out of the obliterated door, but the kid stood firmly beside her water toy. "Whatcha waiting for? Let's go."

Lila stuck out her hand and grasped at the air. Sera stared it down as if it was poisonous. "Not supposed to go anywhere without someone holding it."

"Fine, fine," Sera reached out, and yanked upon the slimy thing now leaving streaks of red dye across her own fingers, "whatever it takes, just don't die on me, ya hear? Keep living."

Lila blinked her eyes, struggling to keep up with the woman hauling ass through the alienage of Val Royeaux. More elves than Lila'd ever seen bustled through the narrow streets. Some stood around the murky walls conversing at their leisure, but just as many moved about unaware that it was a day of celebration. Or, more likely, they had to work twice as hard because of it. That bunting didn't hang itself.

The girl wanted to stop and listen to them. She only got to spend time with elves when visiting her grandma, hearing scary bedtime stories and eating that spicy bread her Mummy loved. But Sera didn't slow in her mad search for anyone to take this terror off her hands. At first she ducked through a livery, the horses all glancing up. "No good," Sera muttered. As Lila reached to pet one of the horse's noses reaching down to investigate the child, Sera yanked her on.

Past the livery was a blacksmith shop and, judging by the smell, a tanner was nearby. At first Sera eyed up the kid, "Here might not be so bad for..." Fire burst from the forge, the smith smashing on the bellows. Sera yanked Lila away from the burn, depositing her right next to a line of recently sharpened swords. "Not good, could die here. Probably. Right? Lots of death in these places. Ah!"

Little fingers reached to run along the shiny edge, but the elf yanked her onward before she could touch it. Perturbance grew inside the child at Sera whisking her away just before she got to do anything fun. She slowed her steps, trying to stretch their link as far as she could. Despite holding the kid like she was a poisonous snake, Sera wasn't about to let her go until she was certain she'd found someone that could reasonably keep her alive.

"There, that's got to be something," Sera shouted. Dashing across the courtyard, Sera dragged Lila past the massive tree that filled all alienages. Ribbons dangled off the branches, green as that cake, and Lila wanted to tug one off. She pulled back on the bond, but Sera wasn't having any of it. Her crystal eyes were honed on a set of doors hanging ajar from their frames. A few elves stood outside, but it was the massive body squatting in the chair - his head slumped forward in sleep - that drew Sera's attention.

She skidded to a halt, then twisted back to check on Lila, "Still alive right? No dying during the walk?" Finally, she released her hold on the girl and eyed up the mess on own hand, "Ugh, sticky without any of the fun." Wiping the dye down her own shirt, Sera kicked the leg of the man passed out on the bench.

He didn't shift, only a light mumbling gave away the fact he also wasn't dead. Lila watched the display for a moment before realizing that the elf woman wasn't watching or holding her. Slipping away with an assassin's skill, she ran for the tree.

Sera didn't notice, she was too busy re-enforcing her whacks to the man's leg, "Get off it and wake up! I know you're in there."

He didn't look up at her from his one good eye, only snorted and said, "You gonna stop kicking me or what?"

"Only if'n you keep making me," Sera said, though she stopped her kicking. The Iron Bull shifted in his seat but didn't raise his head off his chest.

"So, did you want something or is this another of your games?"

"Yes, you have to watch this kid."

Bull chuckled, "What part of Tal Vashoth mercenary says perfect baby sitter."

Sera threw her hands up, "Don't matter. You just do that guarding bodies thing of yours. I can't..." she shuddered again, the entire notion of placing another life in her hands shaking her to the core. "Nope, you do it, you'll be great."

"Okay," Bull said, still not glancing up, "Where's this kid?"

"She's..." Sera whipped around, realizing that her hand was no longer clutching to her charge, "Fuckity balls in crotch sauce!"

"That one's new," Bull chuckled.

Sera jumped forward, shaking his harness, "You don't get it, she's very...we have to find her!"

Bull sighed, "What's she look like? Blonde hair? Brown eyes? Wearing a shift with that pattern the templars have and brown shoes now covered in red dye?"

"Yes!" Sera shouted, far too freaked out to be impressed with his new found psychic skills, "We have to find her!"

"She's over by that big tree." From Sera's glare he shrugged, "Ben-hassrath, remember?"

Sera cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted, "You, child thing, get over here!" But Lila ignored her, she'd managed to shimmy halfway up the tree, her tiny fingers finding the knots better than most adults. One of the ribbons dangled enticingly out of reach. "Don't make me do the bad thing!" Sera shouted, her voice raising in terror, "Like send you to supper without bed!"

Bull sighed, rising from his seat. Carefully, he wiped his hands down his pants while walking towards the tree. He cracked his neck twice and plucked up Lila as if she weighed nothing more than an apple. The girl squealed from losing her grip, but in lifting her up, her fingers grabbed one of the ribbons, tugging it free. That was enough to calm her as Bull flipped her around to look him in the one eye.

"Who are you?" she asked, her fingers running across the ribbon.

"The name's The Iron Bull," he said, "and who might you be?"

"I'm Lila," she said sticking out her hand.

Bull chuckled at it, and shifted the girl over to his one hand while gently shaking hers with his other. "Aren't you terrified of the giant ox man?"

Lila screwed up her face, thinking so hard her tongue stuck out. After a few beats she shook her head and smiled, "No."

That drew an even heartier laugh from Bull as he lowered her to the ground. She wadded the ribbon in her hand, not about to let that hard fought treasure go.

"All right, Sera, I can..." Bull turned around to find her, but Sera was already long gone. The qunari sighed, "Guess it's just you and me kid."

Lila held out her hand and waved it in his direction. Bull eyed it up, then sighed, "Right right, come on." The child holding loosely onto only one finger, Bull led Lila into the tavern.

There were many fine and upstanding establishments across Orlais that were happy to welcome the masses celebrating the anniversary of the Inquisition's closing of the breach. This was not one of them. Alcohol didn't just permeate the air, it oozed from every drop of moisture - spoiled beer actually condensing outside filthy glasses. Lila scrunched up her nose at the smell, far too much like that room her parents kept her away from where the screaming was worst. But Bull either didn't notice or became blind to it. Shaking his head towards the corner, he stomped past the piles of tables made from what looked like stolen wood. One still had "property of the Merchant's Guild" burned across the top.

Few of the patrons looked up at the massive Qunari guiding a little girl, they were either deep into their own sorrows, or had seen far more interesting things than that. The Iron Bull stopped at a table where a few people sat.

"Where's Krem?"

Lila tried to see over the top of the table as an elf spoke. She had the same lilting accent as the bird lady Mummy sometimes visited with. "Chatting up one of the waitresses."

"Shiiit," Bull said, drawing out the swear, "I swear, he gets more action than me."

"Sir," Stitches jerked his chin, the first to notice the child clinging to his hand, "who's that?"

"A new member of the Chargers!" Bull shouted. With one hand, he raised her up high. Lila giggled, waving at all the people looking up at the child as if she was a barrel of gatlock about to explode. Bull twisted the kid to look into his one eye. She reached out, steadying herself by grabbing onto his horn, "We gonna need a nickname for you, kid? Hm..."

The qunari gazed around his troops strung across three tables. He spotted a chair higher than the rest in the place. It might just be perfect. Dropping his voice to as low of a whisper as the qunari could manage, he asked the kid, "You know cards?"

Lila nodded her head, her curls bouncing in the guttering candle light.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna sit back there and if you see the people in front of you have a good hand, you give me a signal like..." Bull spotted the ribbon still dangling in her fingers, "wave this about."

Lila twirled the ribbon in her fingers, enjoying the feel of her hard won prize.

"Right, like that, but only if they got a good hand. Get it?"

"Yeth, thir," she said, then saluted.

Bull chuckled and returned the salute. Holding the child away from his face so she wouldn't go deaf, Bull shouted, "Hey guys, I think we should call the new one Ace! You like that?" Moving his mass around the table, Bull placed her upon the chair and winked. Lila giggled, squaring in her seat for her very important mission. "Ace'll be a great addition to the Chargers. Enemies'll never see her coming. Now," Bull smacked his hands together, "let's get some cards going over here!"

Dalish and Stitches hovered in the far back, sharing a drink and perhaps something a bit more, while Rocky kept bumping into the wall as if he expected a door to appear. Only Skinner and Grim were willing to play cards with the boss. Bull smiled wide, stretching out across the bench and nodding once at Lila.

"Come on, Skinner. We ain't got all day here."

The elf glared but cut the deck, her fingers flicking through the cards and folding them in and out faster than the eye could follow. Clucking her tongue, Skinner passed out seven each to the three playing and raised her own to her eyes. Lila clapped her hands, wiggling in her seat to get a better view of the pictures.

Despite having an Ace in the chair across from him, Bull's game went south fast. He grumbled every time Skinner pulled a surprise card from the slump, or managed to get an entire set of cups. Even Grim, who usually sneered at his cards, then threw them all away in disgust managed to win a game on the Bull.

Midway through the fifth set, when Bull held his hand so close to his eyes there was no way he could see them, Krem appeared. He hovered behind the Iron Bull, "How's it going, Chief."

"Mumf," Bull mumbled, then threw a card down.

"It can't be that bad," Krem said, trying to peer over his shoulder. Bull snorted, steam almost puckering out of his nostrils, as he tried to protect his hand from prying eyes. Grim changed out one his cards for a new. Across from them, Lila waved her little green ribbon with wild abandon.

"Shit," Bull said. Krem watched his boss reshuffling his hand, then got a better look at the young accomplice.

"Is that..." Krem stepped around the piling mugs and sweet wrappers from Bull to the girl rolling on a short-legged stool. He dropped down to a knee to meet her face to face. "Chief!"

"Busy here, Krem," Bull shouted, trying to save himself.

"What are you doing here, little one?" Krem asked, holding a hand out.

"It's my job to watch the cards," she said, rising up in her seat.

"That so? And who put you up to it?" Lila pointed a finger at Bull, drawing an eye roll from Krem. "Of course he did."

"I's suppothed to wave my ribbon whenever I see a good card."

Krem twisted back to watch Bull fail once again at another hand. A cruel smile twisted his lips, "Do you know what a good card is?"

"Sure," Lila said, bouncing in her seat, "it's one that's really pretty. I like the lady in silver the best."

Krem snickered then held his hands out to the girl. She scooted forward and jumped into them, her weight catching him off guard as he repositioned from the exuberance. "You wouldn't happen to be Lila, would you?"

"Yup," she nodded, screwing up her eyes as if she needed to remember.

"I feared as such," Krem said to her before turning around and to Bull, "Chief!"

"WHAT?!" Bull screamed back, dumping a tankard down his gullet.

"Don't you know who this kid is?" Krem asked while Lila tried to thread her ribbon through his shoulder guards. Bull shrugged. "By all the...this is the Inquisitor's child. Remember? We met her a year or so ago."

The other Chargers all sat up from their stupors and stared at the girl, most nodding their heads and spotting the similarities through the dark haze of the tavern. Much like an optical illusion where someone pointed out what was the eye and that that swirl is the chin, it was impossible to not see her parentage now.

Bull's head snapped up and his eye searched over the child with new depths, "Your Mom's the Inquisitor? No wonder you're shit at cards."

"Chief!" Krem shouted.

"What?"

Krem jerked his head at the child, "Be careful what you say around little ears."

"Wha', you think she might be a spy?" Bull laughed.

"No," Krem responded. "You don't want her repeating any new bad words she learned to her mother."

Bull snorted, waving his hand at the absurdity. Her mother already knew all the good ones anyway. He took another deep drink then twisted back, a beady eye on the child trying to tie a bow around Krem's head. "If that's the Boss' daughter why's she not look a thing like her. You hiding any pointed ears somewhere, kid?"

"She's the commanders as well," Krem said, as if that should be as obvious as the color of the sky.

"So Cullen finally figured out to do with that sword of his beyond playing with it."

"Chief..."

"What? With those two it seemed like they'd spend the whole night hugging and call it fuc-"

"CHIEF!"

Bull tipped his horns up and down, tired of being chastised for every other word. After a moment he held out his arms and said, "Come here," to the kid.

Krem lowered Lila to the ground, then undid her ribbon and passed it back. She snuck under the table, her knees meeting with Maker knew what breeding below, to pop out in front of Bull. He picked her up and stood her on the bench beside himself, staring into her eyes. Unafraid Lila stared back, her hand holding onto his horn so she wouldn't fall.

"Aren't you like four or some shi-" He felt Krem's glare and rolled his head, "some thing like that. Shouldn't you be a lot taller?"

"She's not an oxman," Krem said. "Humans don't shoot up to six feet tall before we're weaned."

Bull stared at the girl before leaning back and snorting, "Some of you ain't even weaned yet. Heard what you were getting up to all cozy behind the counter. Krem, is this gonna be another broken heart?"

"This isn't really the, uh, Chief, the kid."

"What?" Bull twisted around, "she's still here."

"There you are!" a gruff voice broke through the dank of the tavern, the light outlining a man in the same mottled armor and even mangier beard. Thom Rainier stepped forward, dashing as fast as he ever did to the girl.

Bull's shoulders fell, but Lila twisted around, almost taking a step off the bench in her excitement. Luckily, the qunari was there to catch her, his hand steadying her in place.

"Beardy!" Lila shouted, her arms trying to reach for the man blushing underneath his hair.

"Beardy?" Bull asked, turning to him.

"It's just a...nickname the child came up for me. That's all," Thom said. "We traveled together for a time in the same caravan."

"Beardy is so funny!" Lila continued, extolling his virtues.

"Are you sure you're not thinking of another beard?" Bull said, drawing a few guffaws from his Chargers.

"Come here," Thom reached out, picking Lila off her teetering stand. She wrapped her arms around his neck, the ribbon burrowing into said beard. "Sera sent me to find you. Girl was in a tizzy about you not dying," he paused and looked around at the establishment, "and I can understand why. Well, I should be getting you back to your parents. Especially before your father starts a war."

Lila shook her head, wanting to stay with the fun and keep waving her ribbon, but then a yawn threw open her mouth so wide she had to lean back. Thom reached forward to keep her steady and her head from smacking into the tavern's overhang. "Mmkay," she said, exhaustion answering for her.

Thom shifted her in his arms, her exhaustion somehow making her twice as heavy, then got an idea. He dropped her onto a table, which was enough to wake the girl. Then he twisted around and patted his shoulder, "Climb up here, it'll be easier."

Giddy from the new game, Lila plunged forward, her tiny hands knotting across Thom's neck. He yanked her fingers up so they were locked tight onto his beard and not cutting off his air supply. With Lila safely on his shoulders, he dipped down and worked towards the exit.

"When you're done," Bull shouted from his corner, "you should swing by for a round, Beardy!"

Thom snorted at Bull's offer as he kicked open the door and emerged into the shadowed alienage. The setting sun's rays were blanketed by the massive buildings walling off the unwanted masses. "Sera," he shouted, "you here?" But the woman that yanked him from his lonely bench with her harried words of how he had to help vanished into the night. "The only way to keep track of that girl is nailing her to the floor," he muttered. "You okay up there?"

Lila shook her head, "Yes'm." Her voice softened from its usual ecstatic roar, another yawn dancing around it.

"Try to not fall asleep on my head. Now to find your parents," Thom set off down the twisting alleys, dodging past elves and less than savory humans sharpening their blades for a good night of work. A few looked up at the child cooing from her perch, but at the steely glare from her ride backed off.

Outside of the alienage walls, mages prowled up and down the streets, alighting the lamps. Purple light flared below lines of blown glass casting a haunting glow to the procession of people moving towards the palace gates. Thom couldn't remember which one it was for, nor did he care. They were all the same in the end. If it weren't for her invitation, he'd have never set foot in Val Royeaux again. But a chance for a reunion was worth it...as well as getting to watch Sera lob bags of rancid butter off the roof at the gentry passing by on their horses.

Lila's hands slipped off his beard, her head bobbing. Thom jiggled his shoulders and she snapped back awake. "Not too much further, okay."

"Kay..." she murmured, her voice lulling off.

"How about I tell you another story. You like those, right?"

"Yeth!" Lila shouted, her lisp slipping back in.

Thom fell in behind a pair of nobby Orlesians both wearing an outfit covered in glittering green sparkles. It seared his eyes, but they distracted from the unkempt wildman attempting to pass through the gates. "I was in the woods once, trying to escape from a chevalier hell bent on slicing me down."

Lila's fingers gripped tighter to his face, pinning his cheeks back into an almost terrifying grin. Through the rictus, he continued to talk, scaring the scaled off the first gate guard that waved them both through. "Didn't think much of woods and trees. Not as bad as the Deep Roads, but somehow I got separated from the others in my company. Snap of a branch below my feet and, woosh, I found myself dangling upside down off a tree."

"Eee," Lila squealed, "that's fun."

"Maybe for you," Thom said. "It's not something I'm a fan of. After about an hour of the blood pooling in my head, I spot a set of feet approaching - bare feet. Shaggy red hair pops into view along with the tattooed face it was attached to. The Dalish elf..."

"My Mummy's Dalish!" Lila crowed, kicking her feet in excitement.

Thom reached up to steady her, but took the blows with aplomb. "You don't say. Well, this Dalish elf was less than friendly, eyeing up the strange man dangling in her snare like I was an invading bear. I tried to convince her I had no beef with her people, just needed to get through, but there was no doing."

Their cover veered off towards a fountain now sparkling a haunting green light from the mages hovering beside it. "Maker's balls, why are they trying to remind everyone of the breach? Do Orlesians chuckle about beheadings with the widow too?" Thom muttered to himself while heading through the final door into the palace.

"Pardon, messere," a hand snaked out in front of Thom, cutting him off.

He twisted around, dragging Lila with him, to eye up the Orlesian soldier hidden behind a mask. The child shuddered, burrowing her face into the back of Thom's head. Good thing he'd been keeping up with that anti-lice routine.

"Only preferred people are allowed entrance at this time. Perhaps you can return later, when the festivities are more...common."

Thom sneered, wishing he didn't need to get through. Sera'd made a plan to nick all the best grub at the banquet and head for the scuzziest tavern in the place to share. Which, on second thought, was probably the one occupied by Bull and his men.

"I am one of those people."

The guard's eyes trailed down the armor with mud still worked into rivets, cloth hems tattered, and a massive chocolate stain Lila left after their last encounter. "Is that so?"

"I'm Thom Rainier," he said, the wince finally gone from speaking his real name.

But the guard was unmoved. "Perhaps you are unaware, but this gathering is only for those who served intimately with the Inquisitor. Anyone else is encouraged to remain outside."

"Lila, cover your ears." The child did as told, and Thom leaned into the man, "I did fucking serve with the Inquisitor. While you were pissing your pants standing guard outside some lord's breakfast nook, I was neck deep in shit that'd send you scampering back to your mother's skirts."

"Really?" the guard said, but there was a new squeak to his voice. "I don't remember the tales of a Thom Rainier fighting beside the Inquisitor's side."

"No, you wouldn't. Because I was Blackwall then."

"Oh..." color drained from the speck of flesh visible beneath the mask. "You're...uh, of course, Sir. You can do right in." He stepped back, giving Thom a wide berth.

Snorting once at him, he continued up the steps. Then he paused and turned back to the guard, "Hey!"

"Yes, Sir?" the guard saluted, snapping his hand up so fast it smacked into his forehead.

"Do you know where Lavellan is?"

"The Inquisitor's in conference with the Marquis until the dinner hour." At Rainier's continued glare, he tacked on, "Go through the door, take a left, and it's the third door on the right."

"Thanks," Thom said, nodding once. Behind him, the guard sagged to the ground, praying to Andraste to save him. Thom ignored him as he threw open the massive door and followed the terrified guard's instructions. Some people would probably find the hall impressive, but all he saw was a waste of time, money, and perfectly good metal that could have been put back into the armory. At least the statue of Andraste was tasteful, even if the poor lady never seemed to find a dress that properly fit.

"Beardy?" Lila asked, "Can I take my hands off?"

"Sure," Thom said, then shouted it again in case she didn't hear. Twisting down the left hall, he counted down the doors.

"What happened with the elf lady?" Lila asked, one hand clinging to his forehead.

"She said she'd cut me down if I could best her in a game of riddles."

"And you won!" Lila finished, very much enjoying this story.

"Not really, after a day hanging upside down I could barely remember my own name," Thom stopped outside the third door and dropped to his knees. Lila slid off her perch, but kept a hand locked around his. "She flitted back into the forest leaving me alone. I thought for sure I was going to die there, when out of the trees an arrow zipped through the air and snipped the rope clean. Hell of a landing and I never trod through Dalish territory again."

Thom knocked once on the door, then pushed it open. At first only a man dressed in the same frills as every other noble was all that was visible, but leaning deeper a familiar woman emerged. She had on a fancier version of her favored armor, while a cloak knotted around her left arm, obscuring the missing mark. Both were in a heated discussion which fell away at the interruption.

"Mummy!" Lila cried, dropping Thom's hand.

"Emm'asha," The Inquisitor called back, dropping to a knee. Lila dashed into her arms, the ribbon fluttering to the floor in the excitement. Her mother hooked her right arm tighter around the girl pulling her into a hug and then lifting her. Lila helped, knotting her hands around her mother's neck while the Inquisitor's left arm steadied her as best she could.

"Cullen!" Lavellan shouted to the door on the left, then turned to face Thom. "Do I even want to know where you found her?"

"Probably not," he said, shaking his head. Lila only laughed, then grabbed her mother's cheeks and kissed her twice.

"Don't think you can wiggle out of this one, young lady," her mother warned even as she gripped tighter to her daughter. Lila smiled, blinking those massive lashes that framed her doe eyes.

Cullen threw open the door, a scowl etched into his face. It faded into shock at the sight of Lila holding tight to her mother. "Thank the Maker!" He dropped all pretense and ran to his wife and daughter. "You're here...are you all right? I was so worried," he said. Lila scurried out of her mother's waning arms into her fathers. He plucked her up as if she weighted nothing and hugged her tight while her mother tried to pick through her knotted curls. She frowned at the red dye blooming up the ends.

"Never, ever, ever do that again. Unless you want to kill your father," Cullen muttered. She giggled, her face buried deep in his red finery. The child missed a few tears of joy tumbling down his cheeks, pent up emotion flaring as quickly as a mage's fireball.

Still pinning Lila to his chest, Cullen turned to Thom and stuck out a hand. Rainier dipped his head from the gallantry and crossed to him. Gripping it, Cullen said, "Thank you for finding her, she's..."

"I know," Thom said, shaking his hand, then letting go. "Little one," he said, drawing Lila's attention. He dangled out the ribbon, "You forgot this."

She yelped, then reached for it. Thom laughed as she ran the ribbon through her fingers, then slipped it behind her father's neck. Rainier felt the Inquisitor's curious eyes land upon him.

"She's taken a real shining to you."

Thom shrugged, "I've got two of my own back at home."

"Two? Already?"

"Well, I didn't have a hand in making 'em, but they're mine all the same."

The Inquisitor beamed at that, drawing a blush below Thom's beard. She turned to her daughter, pulling her curls back to see her eyes. "And you, little lady. Just what have you been up to all day?"

Lila tried to tie the ribbon one more time around Cullen's neck, only to have her pudgy fingers fail. "Let me think..." she said, drawing out her sentence as her fingers wadded up the ribbon, "I hugged Cathandra who was in funny pajamas. Then a dwarf, but not the dwarf from home, let me return a key. A pretty lady taught me electrocution. She said I could have armor!"

"No," the Inquisitor interrupted, "you're not getting any armor. The moment it's finished you'll be too big for it." She turned from her daughter's begging eyes to the rest in the room and explained, "An endless argument for us."

Lila harrumphed from her mother's word, but she had more story to tell. "I got cake from an elf, but didn't get to eat the big one I was promised. After I didn't die, I climbed a big tree to be an Ace and then Beardy told me a story!"

"What a delightful imagination the child has," the Marquis chuckled.

Her parents shared a look. "Yes," the Inquisitor said, "imagination."

"I'll have some frank discussions with our friends later," Cullen said. "And you," he lifted his daughter higher so she could look him in the same colored eyes. "You know you're not supposed to leave Josephine's side. I gave you explicit orders."

"I know, Daddy," she said, bowing her head. "I'm sorry," then she reached forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. Cullen's resolve stood unbending against blood mages, a crazed Knight-Commander, and a would-be god, but he crumbled from a three year old's hug.

"She is adorable," the Marquis said. "When do you plan to have another?"

Now the parental shared look switch to one of horror. "I don't know if that's advisable," the Inquisitor said diplomatically.

Cullen snorted, "All of my grey's already named Lila. Throw a second in there and I'll be white before harvestmere."

Lila smiled from her name and possibly pushing her father just far enough to drain the color from him. Her little fist waved in front of her mouth as another massive yawn twisted up her face.

"Right," the Inquisitor said, "you're off to bed."

"But Mummy, I had to see the cake and wave to the good cards."

"Uh huh, you can do that tomorrow. I'm certain all your new friends will still be around and more than happy to see you then." She nodded to Cullen, who wrapped Lila tighter to him and turned to leave.

"It's nice to see you with something good," Thom said.

"Even with the wolf clawing at our door," the Inquisitor responded, never able to step back from what hung above them all.

Lila crawled up her father's arms to peek above his shoulder and see everyone. "Night, Mummy," she said waving goodbye, "Night, Beardy!" Giving one last squeeze to her father she shouted loud enough for everyone to hear, "I love you."

A shock of curls lay across the pillow beside her, slowly turning the sheets red as Lila snuggled into her happy dreams. Huffing in sleep at her feet, and taking the rest of the bed, was a mabari with a bright green ribbon tied around his neck. Whenever Lila shifted he'd lift his head, check for danger, then slip right back to sleep.

"Where were you three hours ago?" Cullen muttered to the dog normally glued to her side.

His wife slipped her arm around him, rising up to kiss him on the cheek. "Hush, it's all well. She went on a bit of an adventure is all."

Cullen grumbled, "An adventure in Val Royeaux where Maker knows what could be waiting to pick her off at any minute."

She smiled, brushing her lips against the back of his neck. "We may have enemies, but there are just as many friends willing to watch her back."

Cullen turned from his vigil over Lila. It'd taken all his wife had to talk him into attending the damn feast they were there for in the first place. They needed to test their allies strength, see what state the world of Orlais rested in. He knew that, but after the scare, Cullen spent the entire night antsy to rush back to Lila's side. Josephine tried to apologize about twenty times, before the Inquisitor pulled her away, telling her to just wait it out.

Sliding a hand up his wife's arm, Cullen adjusted the strap of her nightgown. It was far too large, borrowed during their wanderings, but somehow there was never time to fix it or find a new one. As she blinked up at him, a coy look from the contact, her wondered if maybe she didn't leave it that way on purpose.

"What did you learn from our...compatriots?"

"Cassandra promised her she could wear the hat." Hhe chuckled, "She'd probably let Lila sit on the sunburst throne if she asked."

"Maker, let's not give our daughter any ideas."

"After that Varric watched her for a time..."

Cullen caught the dangling thread from her, "And what was that about some key?"

She shrugged, the errant strap dropping again, "Not a clue. Varric hemmed and hawed then blamed Bran. Whatever the truth was, it couldn't have been that dangerous."

"I'm going to kill that dwarf," Cullen sneered.

She patted his cheek. "No you won't. He kept an eye on Lila, passed her off to Vivienne - who was the electrocution part."

"Andraste, she was teaching our daughter magic?"

"No, elocution. She was also the one to promise Lila armor..." a sneer rose from that.

Cullen was the one to chuckle now, "You know it'll happen one day."

"Perhaps, at least it's not that baby griffin Lila wanted so terribly. Dorian actually saved a slice of cake for Lila."

"That's nice of him." The rage for disemboweling Pavus disintegrated once Lila was back in his arms, though the mage somehow managed to keep missing Cullen at every turn of the feast.

She rolled her eyes, "It's over fifteen layers. If we let her near it, she might be able to fly. After that Sera passed Lila off to Bull for a bit and then found Rainier to bring her back to us. See," she gestured to her sleeping babe and snuggled closer to Cullen, "she was never in any danger."

Cullen's sneer wasn't about to fade any time soon, but he gave in to her, wrapping his arms fully around her body and holding her tight. Softly kissing her neck, he said, "I blame you."

"I seem to recall it was you who suggested Josephine watch her."

"Everyone knows where that attitude of hers comes from, and it's not the Rutherford side."

She chuckled, her hand sliding along his arm. "Instead of glaring everyone to death with following her rules, she's sneaking off and making friends."

"And nearly putting her father to the pyre," Cullen added, getting another laugh from her.

Lila stirred for a moment, her fingers reaching out in the darkness as if to grab a hand. When they couldn't find purchase she slipped back to sleep. Her mother's stump wandered towards her stomach, and she said, "At least she hasn't wandered into a wolf den yet."

Cullen chuckled, then his face fell. "What do you mean, yet?"

She shrugged, "I may have been even more adventurous than Lila as a girl...and when I was five- Surely my mother told you this story."

"Your mother does her best to never speak to me. If she were on fire, and I the only one with a water bucket, she'd probably run a mile to find someone else to put her out."

The Inquisitor sighed at the apt description. "There was a cave near where the clan camped, a few miles into the woods, that still had some wolves in it."

"Maker's breath," Cullen sighed, hugging her close during her story to remind himself whatever horrible fate befell her as a child she was here now. "How in thedas did you survive to ten?"

She stared at her daughter, so human to anyone who didn't see the elven glint in her eye, the small point in her ears, or the wilderness calling to her heart. "My brother, he was always there watching over me, keeping me safe. It was the first time he ever threw a spell, to scare off the wolves. Mother told the story more out of pride for him than to mock my own curiosity. I doubt I'd be alive if it wasn't for him watching my back."

Blinking back a small tear for her brother, she turned in Cullen's arms to smile into those beautiful amber eyes. Her face twisted into concentration as she threaded her fingers through his hair. "You know, I think you'd look good in silver hair."

He chuckled, holding her hand, but something in her face gave him pause. "Wait. Are you..." his head slipped down to stare at her still flat stomach, "Is there going to be another?"

"Surprise," she said flippantly, but there was caution in her eyes. Lila had been an accident, a happy one, but something they feared with dark times always looming around the corner. She'd been summoning up the courage to tell him for a week now, after swearing their healer to secrecy upon pain of death.

Cullen choked on a sob, or maybe a laugh, and wrapped his arms tight around her. "That's wonderful! Oh Maker, I didn't even, how far along? Are you okay? Is it okay?"

She rose up on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck. Through tears of joy she tried to answer as best she could, "Yes, it's all fine. Don't let me near pasta, the smell still churns my stomach. It's barely larger than a bean, remember. We've done this before."

"I know, but another one. I never thought, expected...a sibling."

"Perhaps it'll be just like her father, keeping Lila grounded and in place," she said.

But Cullen shook his head, "No, no, I hope they're all as wonderful as you, emma lath."

She ran her fingers across her husband's greying stubble, savoring the prickle once so strange that now filled her heart. Sliding close, she met his lips for a soft and yearning kiss.

In her dreams, Lila snorted, her tiny voice breaking through her parent's joy. "Cathandra, can I wear the hat now?"


End file.
